


Arcadia

by Trivialqueen



Category: Kim Possible (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Food Porn, Friends to Lovers, Gratuitous footnote abuse, Mentions of Kim Possible/Ron Stoppable, Post-Graduation, Reasonably Canon Compliant, Resolved Sexual Tension, Supernatural Elements, Swearing because they're adults, Unresolved Sexual Tension, X-Files Inspired, kinda sorta slow burn, recipes included
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-06-17 11:40:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15460590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trivialqueen/pseuds/Trivialqueen
Summary: Several unexplained disappearances have occurred in the planned community “The Falls of Arcadia”, Global Justice needed to send two people undercover as a married couple in order to investigate. So, of course, they ask Dr. Drakken and Shego.Post-Graduation. Based on the X-Files Episode 6x13 “Arcadia”.





	1. The Whirligig

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based off of the X-Files Episode “Arcadia”, as such there will be some supernatural elements at play, please suspend your disbelief (just as you suspended it to allow for a teenage secret agent). It is also worth noting that Dr. Drakken and Shego are both well into their adult years, as they are the main focus of this piece there will be adult themes throughout this work – including, but not limited to: swearing, violence, drinking, and sexual thoughts, words, and deeds. I do not want to be held responsible for corrupting the youth, you have been warned. Lastly, to reiterate, I do not own Kim Possible (© Disney) nor do I own the X-Files (© Chris Carter, et al.).  
> See the end of the chapter for further notes.

“Welcome to _The Falls_. Please enter your code now. Welcome to _The Falls_.  Please enter your code now.” The tinny female voice chirped at him, entirely too perky, from the key pad. Mel Arky reached through the lowered window of his SUV for the keypad before the goddamn chipper little robot piped up again.

*1138*[1]

“Welcome home, Mr. Arky.” The voice said as the front gate opened. Ann had found that personalized greeting so charming when they first moved in.

Now she confessed to fantasizing about taking a baseball bat to the thing like she worked at Initech.[2]

Driving along the neatly manicured street Mel focused on schooling his face into a pleasantly neutral expression rather than the scowl that more accurately represented his feelings. He didn’t need one of his neighbors complaining he was being “un-neighborly”. _Christ, if I wanted to live in Stepford I’d have moved to Connecticut. **[3]** _ He thought darkly. Still when he passed Abbey Normal out watering her rhododendrons he forced a smile and waved.

Pulling into his own driveway, Mel felt the first honest expression cross his face since he put his entry code into the security gate. He smiled. Leaving his Lexus parked in front of the left side of his two car garage he walked to the mailbox.

The smile turned to a frown.

When he left that morning his mailbox had been “Desert Sienna”. It was now, decidedly, “Desert Sage”. Gingerly he touched the lip of the box. It felt dry…ish.

The paint was dry in the same way crème brûlée was solid. The thin crust of dry paint broke under the pressure of his hand and sticky green-ness smeared across his fingers.

“Son of a bitch!”

“Sorry about that, Mel, it’ll wash out with a little turpentine.” Stan Beck appeared out of nowhere, paintbrush in hand, smiling like he was Ned Fucking Flanders.[4]Mel hadn’t punched anyone since he was a sophomore in college. He was strongly considering revising that as he glared at his paint brush wielding neighbor.

“Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Mel ground out. Stan raised the brush like it would defend him from a blow to the face.

“Trying to be neighborly. Got to be up to code.” Rather than punch the other man, Mel shoved his hand violently into the mailbox and pulled out the contents, paint smearing on the brown wrapping of a medium sized package and across the envelopes of a few bills.

Mel didn’t even deign that with a response, instead, leaving the mailbox lid open he stalked to the house. He didn’t have to look back to know that Stan was most likely touching up where his fingers had smeared his _vandalism._

“Ned Flanders painted our mailbox.” Mel growled entering his kitchen to find Ann at the stove, glass of wine in one hand the other moving something fantastic smelling around in a skillet.

“I wondered, his wife dropped by a little bit ago bearing flowers. I shouldn’t have let the Danaan in.[5]” Ann did feel a twinge of guilt at her unkind words and tone. Helen Beck was actually a delightful woman, but she was just so damn paranoid about the rules. To listen to her and Stan the CC&R was the Bible. It was asinine. Yes, the community was indeed charming but it was also starting to suffocate her.

Beside her Mel poured himself a _healthy_ serving of wine. _He must’ve had a shit day at work as well to be this worked up_.

“Forget the mailbox, I’m gonna paint this whole damn place look like you won it selling cosmetics![6] How about THEM apples.” Ann sat aside her spatula and placed her free hand on her husband’s forearm. His muscles were taught under her fingers. She’d never seen him this keyed up before. Strange that all this was coming out over a mailbox. A freakin’ mailbox. Though, honestly, everyone had their breaking point and this place was driving her (and apparently Mel) closer and closer to it.

Ann had never considered herself a rebel. On the whole she was actually more comfortable with rules than without but he’d never realized how much she missed choices until there weren’t any. There was absolutely no personality in the entire neighborhood. Sure the houses had slightly different architecture and floor plans but in coloring and exterior presentation they were all identical. The order and uniformity had sucked the soul from the houses – and at times she didn’t wonder if it had also sucked the soul from her neighbors.

Maybe they should move.

A vision of packing boxes danced in her head and Ann felt a little queasy. She hated moving and they’d really only just settled into the place. They’d only just painted the living room a color other than white.

To distract herself from the swirling dread that filled her chest every time she thought of packing and moving Ann turned the gas to low and crossed the kitchen to the dining table where Mel had dropped their mail. The paint on all the envelopes did not transfer onto their nice table, for which Mel’s hide should be eternally grateful (she’d have tanned him if he got “Desert Sage” on the mahogany). Bill, Bill, Michigan begging money from an Alumna, Catalog, Catalog, Package.[7]Ann stared at the brown wrapped box in her hand, it was about as long as her forearm and shallow, about as wide as her hand and without an address – either to or return.

“What’s this?” She turned, holding up the box for Mel to look at it.

“Not a clue.” He shrugged. Behind him the oven timer went off.

“Here, you open it while I put dinner together.” She offered him the strange package as they traded places.

“It’s not ticking.” He announced as she pulled the marinated chicken breast from the oven. The rice only needed another five minutes and then everything would be ready.

“Well that’s something!” Oven off she joined her husband to peer at the now opened package. From inside the box colorful wooden pieces appeared.

“It’s a whirligig.” Mel announced, holding up the main piece, a tubby little man dressed like a lumberjack with an ax. Ann supposed he’d chop wood as wind blew his propeller.

“Tasteful.” There was a mischievous gleam in her husband’s eye.

“The neighbors would really hate it.” His lips curled into a positively evil smile. Behind them the egg timer went off announcing that the rice was ready. Ann kissed her two fingers and pressed them to her husband’s cleft chin.

“Put it together after dinner.”

**~**

Ann smiled to herself as she closed the curtains in the living room, the chubby little whirligig man was hard at work chopping wood out in the front flowerbeds. The thing was tacky as hell and not remotely what Ann would have chosen herself for lawn décor but this wasn’t about her personal aesthetic, this was a statement. Door locked and lights out Ann climbed the stairs to bed feeling like she’d gotten the last word in an argument.

**~**

The creaking was coming from her house, not her head, Ann realized with a jolt, her eyes flying open. Something was wrong.

“Mel?” She whispered. Beside her Mel snorted but didn’t stir. “Mel.” She said a little louder, shoving him forcefully. He jerked awake.

“Whaz I snorin’?” He mumbled.

“No.” Ann hissed. “I think there’s someone in the house.” Mel was wide awake at those words. Silently he got out of bed and bent to retrieve the cricket bat he’d brought home from his study abroad trip.[8]

“Stay here.” He told her firmly. Ann nodded, burring herself in the duvet like it would actually protect her. From under the covers she reached to her night stand for her phone. Hopefully she was mistaken, hopefully they wouldn’t need the police….

Her phone wasn’t beside the bed.

It was charging downstairs in the kitchen.

“Fuuucck.” She whispered.

And then the screaming began.

“Mel? MEL!” _I’ve got to help him._

_Shit, I don’t have a weapon._

Casting her eye around she settled for the metal lamp beside the bed and ripped it from the wall.

She didn’t even make it to the top of the stairs.

* * *

 

[1]1138 is a running joke originating in George Lucas Films, but used elsewhere, including in shows like _Firefly_.

[2]Initech – the Company in _Office Space._

[3]Stepford, CT – The fictional town at the center of Ira Levin’s satirical thriller _The Stepford Wives._

[4]Ned Flanders is Homer Simpson’s Super Christian, [Stupid sexy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kwRJ5IoKTmg), Frenemy neighbor.

[5]The Danaan is another name for the Greeks, in this case coming from the Aeneid “Timeo Danaos et Dona Ferentes” – I fear all Greeks, including those bearing gifts. Which in itself is a reference to the Trojan horse.

[6]Mary Kay gives away things to people who hit certain sales quotas, most famously a pink Cadillac.

[7]As a side note Ann Arky’s maiden name is Arbor, because I love puns. So I figured a woman named Ann Arbor needed to be a Michigan alumna.

[8]Shaun of the Dead anyone?


	2. The Sitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize realistically Dr. Director would not be consulting with Kim like this, but I figure in this reality they trust legal minors to fight women who survived comet strikes, so you know, artistic license. On the subject of names, Dr. Drakken’s name is well established in cannon as Drew Theodore P. Lipsky, I’ve seen no reason to change that. Shego’s name is a little more fluid. For this story Shego’s civilian name is Seraphina “Sera” Marie Goh. Out of all the “S” names I went with Seraphina because of its connection to the biblical seraphim – the highest rank of angels who have six wings and are associated with light, fire, and ardor. I for one get a kick out of naming someone with plasma super powers after a being of fire. For all intents and purposes, however, she goes by Shego or Sera.  
> See the end of the chapter for further notes.

Kim Possible quietly closed her hotel room door behind her, Kimmucator beeping in her shorts pocket. She’d brought the device with her mainly out of habit, she’d told Global Justice that she was going on the school sponsored Europe Trip after graduation. This was supposed to be her vacation. She’d had about four days before duty called. She answered the call to find Dr. Betty Director on the other end.

“I know you’re on vacation.” She began without preamble. “But I’m in a bit of a bind.” Kim felt her stomach clench. Global Justice didn’t get into simple “binds”. Aliens and death rays danced in her head.

“I see. How can I help?” The director sighed heavily.

“The FBI has decided since Global Justice was so successful in defeating the Lorwardian attack it should take responsibility for all cases of alien intervention or suspected alien involvement.” Kim felt herself relax – slightly – Director didn’t lead with “we’re under alien attack – again” which had to count for something.

“Like the X-Files?”

“Yes, though the real life A.D. I spoke to was not nearly as competent as Mitch Pileggi.”[1] The director gave her own joke a rueful smile before focusing once again on Kim. “They’ve handed me a case to investigate that appears to me to be more of a series of missing persons than an actual alien threat. Furthermore they’ve requested you and Ron to take the case as GJ agents.” She shook her head.

“I’m honored that the FBI thinks so highly of me, I really am, but I’m in _Paris_.”

“I, unlike the Federal Bureau of Idiots, realize that. I also realize that at eighteen you and Ron are completely the wrong couple for the job.”

Her face must’ve betrayed her because Director quickly added,

“There have been seven mysterious disappearances in the planned community of _The Falls of Arcadia_ since it opened in 2001. The most recent was a pair of FBI agents, which is why the Bureau thinks something supernatural is involved. They want a couple to go undercover as homeowners to get to the bottom of this.”

“Gotcha.” Kim felt herself relax, there was nothing she could do in this case, though why in God’s name the FBI thought she could was mystifying.

“They seem to think your expertise in alien interactions after your abduction overrides the logic of what they’re asking.” Kim leaned against the hall wall and slid to the floor.

“If prior alien experience is so important Dr. Drakken and Shego were also involved in saving the world from the Lorwardians, Drakken even worked with Warmonga prior to the invasion. By any measure he is more qualified.” The director nodded, considering her words as if the thought had never occurred to her. But then why would it? Drakken and Shego had been confirmed villains for over a decade before they decided saving the world was in their best interest.

“They would also pass more easily as homeowners.” Kim couldn’t suppress a giggle as a thought dawned on her.

“I don’t think there is a pair in all of Global Justice or the FBI that acts like more of a couple than those two! I mean did you see them at the UN ceremony? That vine?” Dr. Director’s stoic façade cracked as she joined in Kim’s giggles.

“Perhaps locking them in a house together would help resolve that issue as well as the missing persons.”

“Seriously.”

“Well, Kim, I have done as the FBI asked and contacted you. I’ll present this to Drakken and Shego this evening. If they do agree to do this it would also save me from sending two actual field agents on such as waste of time.”

“Always happy to help, Dr. Director.”

With a sincere sounding order to enjoy Europe the director of Global Justice ended the call. Kim remained seated in the hall, the Kimmunicator dangling absently from her hand. The weirdness of the FBI punting all unexplained cases to GJ was … weird in and of itself. What was awkweirder was asking Drakken and Shego for help. Would they agree? The case itself didn’t sound like it was actually all that “good” or “evil”. Solving a mystery was rather…neutral…so maybe.

Idly her mind turned to the great blue elephant in the room, Drakken and Shego’s relationship. They certainly seemed like a couple during the invasion and he’d had his vines (not a euphemism) all over her throughout most of the UN ceremony. It’d tied them together in a hug, wrapped around her wrist during the cocktail reception, curled around her chair like a sentient protector during the dinner. If Drakken had control over those vines their behavior was a neon sign of their relationship, except it didn’t seem like he had any more control over that part of him than Kim did. In which case either the plant had its own personality and a crush on Shego or it was operating on Drakken’s subconscious… which had a crush on Shego.

For her part Shego had seemed in turns protective and jealous during the abduction. The former hero was entirely too sarcastic to admit to anything aloud, but her actions in saving Drakken fairly shouted. Perhaps sending them on this case was the adult version of seven minutes in heaven. It’d be ideal if they actually acted on their overpowering sexual tension – it’d go away. If they became a couple Kim supposed she’d be happy for them, she was oddly sentimental about them, for being her nemeses. If they broke up she just hoped they’d spend their time seeking revenge on each other rather than taking that anger out on the world just after they saved it.

Sighing, and trying to not think about Drakken and Shego having sex Kim went back in her hotel room.

**~**

“Must you do that?” Drew Lipsky, also known as Dr. Drakken, was apoplectic but his rage was completely undermined by the bright yellow petals encircling his head. Even after years in the hero business Betty Director was barely able to keep her face neutral.

Across the room, positively cackling with joy, was Shego (also known as Seraphina Goh). She dramatically took the tag reading “5” off the hook and replaced it with a “0”. Above her read a handwritten sign: “Days since last bloom”.

“Damn straight Blossom.” The villainess chortled.

“I WAS SURPRISED!” Drakken exclaimed. “Besides, isn’t it your job” he jabbed a glove covered finger in Shego’s direction “to make sure people like HER” he pointed with the same intensity at Betty, “Don’t surprise me?!”

“Dr. Drakken, please.” The director of Global Justice rolled her remaining eye. “I need to speak with you and Shego about a matter of some importance.”

“What? Why?” The Mad Scientist lost all credibility with petals quivering around his head.

“It’s a matter of GJ and FBI business.” Dr. Director took a seat at the workbench since it was obvious neither villain was in the mood to play host.

“Seriously?” The plasma wielding villainess asked, crossing the lab to help her boss pluck golden petals. These were the things that made people – heroes and villains – suspect the pair were more than platonic partners in crime (never mind the cohabitation or the fact she remained by his side for years in spite of being an infinitely more talented villain).

“Yes. The FBI has asked me to enlist your help in a case.”

“But we’re villains.” If the pair continued to interrupt her she’d be in their coastal lair into next week.

“Saving the world ring a bell? Look, it’s your connection to aliens that is of interest to the FBI. They are looking for two people to investigate what they seem to think is a series of abductions. You’ve been pardoned and have the most experience with extraterrestrials.”

“Why should we help you?” Something sensible from the blue man, Betty Director made a mental note to make it on the calendar. She picked up one of the discarded petals.

“Turning over a new leaf? Forgive the pun.” Both villains glared at her.

“You do this for Global Justice and I can offer compensation in the form of a security clearance to Area 51.”[2] The scientist’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Area 51?” Shego was unimpressed. “We already know aliens exist, seen their crafts, big whoop.”

“Sheeego.” Drakken whined, turning on his assistant. “It’s _AREA 51._ ”

“Aren’t you interested in Roswell?”

“Again, already met ET. Even if the Government has known about aliens since 1947 is my knowing that going to make them stop lying? No.”

“Sheeego.” Director turned the petal in her hand and glance toward the “days since last bloom” sign.

“You’re right, there will never be full disclosure. However, Rosewell is more than just the lines our government told us. Area 51 is where all recovered alien technology is stored and reverse engineered. Who knows, in over sixty years of collecting and studying perhaps there is a solution to your _ranunculus_ petal problem.”[3] The potential to reverse Drakken’s unique brand of Spring fever caught their attention.

“Let’s talk details.” Drakken rubbed his hands together. He couldn’t execute a scheme worth a damn half the time but he certainly could look the part of a villain.

* * *

 

[1]Mitch Pileggi played FBI Assistant Director Walter Skinner on _The X-Files_ , (1993-2002, 2008, etc.).

[2]If you don’t know about the significance of Area 51 I suggest you indulge in more popular culture and conspiracy theories, may I refer you to _the X-Files_ , _Independence Day_ , and the “History” Channel?

[3]Ranunculus is a type of flower, it’s a flower pun. Those exist.


	3. Hi-diddly-ho

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't kidding about gratuitous footnotes...

“Welcome to _the Falls._ Please enter your code now. Welcome to _the Falls_. Please enter your code now.” The tinny female voice chirped at her, entirely too perky, from the key pad.

“Dear God that’s annoying.” Shego groaned. Less than thirty seconds into this “case” and she was already itching to blast something.

“Welcome to _the Falls._ Please enter your code now. Welcome to _the Falls_. Please enter your code now.”

“What’s our “code” Doc?” In the passenger seat Drakken flipped through the case file Global Justice had prepared for them.

“0330.”

“Zero Three Three Zero” She repeated back as she typed it into the gate. “Whose stupid idea was that?”

“Welcome home, Mr. Lipsky.” The voice said as the front gate opened.

“It’s  _Doctor_ Lipsky.” Drakken snapped at the key pad. “And Shego, I’ll have you know 0330 is a palindrome.”[1]

“Why does it assume you’re driving? Is this place both creepy and sexist?” She ignored him. Ahead of them was a neatly manicured street lined with nearly identical homes.

“To be fair that was my number code, you have your own. It’s, uh-” He checked, “0051.”

“Who picked these?”

“GJ asked me for numbers I thought we could remember but they did all the programing and paperwork.”

“And 0051?” The homes they passed were ridiculous. Essentially one of four designs mixed and matched with one of four soothing, non-descript color palates.

“I thought it might keep things in perspective.” They were receiving in addition to a government and GJ paycheck a three day all access pass to the top (open) secret military base.

“And 0330?”

“Like I said, it’s a palindrome.”

“It’s my birthday.”[2] She said quietly. Beside her Drakken spluttered, got defensive, then resigned.

“They said it should be something we would be sure to remember.” He said with a heavy sigh. “Turn left up here.” He changed the subject effortlessly. Shego did her best to drive rather than stare at him.

  _Is playing house really a good idea, all things considered?_ She wondered for not the first nor the last time. When Betty Friggin’ Director told them they’d be undercover as homeowners Shego had wanted to pull out even though Ms. GJ had argued it would be just the same as living in the lair. The Tiffany solitaire and matching diamond ban winking at her in the NorCal dusk begged to differ.[3] She was _not_ going to think about it, she vowed (for not the first nor last time).

A swarm of people she supposed were neighbors indicated which McMansion was going to be their prison until they figured out what happened to all those other couples, including two trained FBI agents with guns.

“This must be the place.”[4]

“1013 Anderson Drive.”[5] Shego pulled into the driveway as Drakken shoved the papers in the expensive purse Shego had legitimately purchased with the money GJ had given them to buy appropriate undercover clothes. From this moment forward they were Drew and Sera Lipsky and they didn’t wear jumpsuits or lab coats.

“The pictures didn’t do this place justice, did they She-rie.” Drakken had dove into character head first and had already nearly blown it with her name. His cover had been quick, calling her _Chèrie_ , it gave him away as a dork who casually used French rather than a supervillain.[6]

“We picked a winner, didn’t we Drew?” Ok she could see the appeal of using nicknames, however dumb, using his given name was _weird_. She didn’t like it.

“You must be the Lipskys. I’m Abigail Normal.” Shego did have to hand it to the woman, when confronted with a 6 foot blueberry and 5’7” asparagus she didn’t bat an eye, just shifted the comically large welcome basket in her arms to her hip to extend a hand.[7] “I’m the official welcome committee. So, uh, Welcome!”

“Hello Abigail, I’m Drew,” Drakken shook her hand before wrapping his arm around Shego’s waist, similar to how his vines had wrapped themselves around her at the UN ceremony. “And this is my _wife_ Sera.” The way he said wife and held her close made Shego’s tough persona rebel but the treacherous, traitorous girly romantic part of her she’d buried years ago sparkle.

“Drew and Sera Lipsky, lovely to meet you.” Abigail said and unceremoniously dumped the basket of fruit and baked goods into Shego’s arms. It wasn’t heavy but it was an awkward, large shape and getting a grip on it that allowed her to also see where she was going took the former hero turned villain turned hero again a few moments.

“Good to meet you as well.” Shego found herself saying from behind the basket.

“I really must say it’s ten after five, I’m not sure if you’re going to make it.” Of all the things Shego expected someone to say this was not one of them.

“I’m sorry?” Drakken was equally as confused, the strong arm around her waist slipping.

“One of the CC&Rs is that all move-ins need to be completed by 6:00.”[8] Drakken looked from Abigail to her then back to the moving truck where the neighbors were already handing down boxes from the back.

“Oh. We didn’t know.” Drakken said, apologetically. “But perhaps with everyone’s generous help we stand a fighting chance, eh _ma force_?”[9] So French nicknames were going to be a thing. Two could play that game, she’d taken French in high school and college, plus spent plenty of time hiding out in various French speaking nations during her villain years.

“We always do, _mon saucisson_.[10] Now why don’t we go inside so I can ditch this basket and then we can help?” Drakken narrowed his eyes at what she chose to call him but led the way into the two story house.

The house was spotless inside. Made very apparent by the sterile white walls and snow white carpet. The two story living room with slanted roof and massive windows was stark, clinical and cold. Shego had never given much thought to what she wanted in a home (apartments and lairs suited her just fine) but this was certainly not it. She, however, couldn’t express her first several reactions because she was supposed to be Sera Lipsky. Sera who thought moving to Stepford was clearly a good idea.

“It’s very clean.” Drakken commented. He stood out like a stain against the blank backdrop in his black tee shirt and indigo jeans with his black ponytail and blue skin. He didn’t belong there. Abigail did, she was dressed in soft pastels, her hair as fair as her skin. Shego in her ripped jeans belonged with Drakken and anywhere but in the living room of “their” new “home”.

“Hurry up now. Fast. Come on, come on.” Behind them, tromping through the foyer with the boxes and furniture the FBI had provided them with was the band of neighbors.

“It really is immaculate. I feel like I should write the previous owners a thank you card.” Shego was grateful when one of the neighbors (a tall linebacker type in an Oregon Ducks shirt) deposited a vaguely familiar end table in the living room. The cellophane of the basket was sticking to her arms and making her uncomfortable and fidgety.

“So what do you do for a living Mr. Lipsky?” Abigail ignored the mention of the previous owners – Shego wasn’t sure if it was because she did or did not know where they had gone.

“I’m a… scientist,” she could hear him almost say “mad” in the slight pause he made before answering, “an inventor really, robotics and engineering. I work mainly from home.”

“And I’m a teacher.” Shego added. Was this woman not going to ask her about _her_ career? Did this lady assume she didn’t have one or did she assume that it wasn’t important? “I just got a job in the City - Middleton Academy for Gifted Youngsters – I’ll be teaching Composition.” The woman gave her a blank look. Admittedly Middleton Academy was completely made up but there was no way she could know that off hand.

Drakken’s arm slipped around her waist once again, right thumb hooking in a belt loop on her right side casually.

“One of the benefits of working from home is how easy it makes relocating when a great opportunity shows up.” He sounded sincere. He sounded supportive. And apparently that was all it took to get Abigail Normal darting out the living room to go “help”.

“We sound like one of those couples I hate.” She announced the moment they were alone. Reluctantly he pulled away from her.

“We can’t exactly talk to each other like we usually do or else the gossips would have us heading for divorce like that.” He snapped his fingers for emphasis. Seeing his third finger encircled in tungsten and platinum was a bit surreal. The ring really fit his personal aesthetic which did not help her get over him in a wedding band. It looked … right on him and that was just wrong.

“Well, let’s go carry some of our own shit in before they start gossiping about that.” Having a task would help – everything – Shego was certain. Moving sucked but mindless, repetitive labor offered a certain comfort.

They were met going out by one of their kitchen chairs coming in.

“The Lipskys I presume.” The man carrying the chair atop his head still managed to sound imperious which was no easy feat.

“Yes. Drew and Sera.” Drakken put one of his large (warm) hands on her shoulder as he introduced them. He was surprisingly good at this suburban small talk stuff. The man with the chair extended a hand.

“Stan Beck, next door neighbor. Welcome home.”

“Thanks.” Was all Shego managed.

“Don’t you folks worry, we’ll have you move in by 6.” _Totally my number one concern_. “Excuse me.” He brushed past them with the chair, determinedly striding toward the kitchen. Behind him a line of at least ten people streamed by with boxes and bags and the other kitchen chairs.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thanks. Thank you. Yank Th-ou. Thanks. Thank you.” She found herself saying, sounding to her own ears rather like Chevy Chase in _Christmas Vacation_.[11]

The stream of people away from the door they were able to duck out. The moving van was nearly half empty already, admittedly it hadn’t been particularly full to begin with since they weren’t really moving and worst case scenario only living in the house a month or two. The FBI had packed a truck full of enough furniture to be functional and enough accessories to be homey. This was not stuff to actually live with. For one thing there was only one bookcase. That was not nearly enough books. Sighing Shego grabbed the arm of a dark grey wingback chair she was positive came out of their mountain lair. Once she got out of the truck she could flip the thing up on her head like Stan had carried the significantly lighter kitchen chair and take it into the house. There was a spot beside the fireplace near one of the greenhouse windows that called for this chair (and a fire, a rainy day, and a good cup of tea with an even better book).

“Wooah-ho sister, let me help you with that.” Shego had just gotten the chair in a comfortable position given her high ponytail; cushion left on the desk in the back of the truck for Drew or the waifish Abigail to take in, when a deep voice stopped her. Oregon Ducks guy was standing in her way.

“That’s way too heavy for you to manage alone.” Staring him straight in the eye she lifted the chair up over her head, arms extended straight. It was a heavy chair but with her superior strength it was no more a burden than carrying a box of DVDs or something the man would probably deem more appropriate for a ‘sister’ to carry.

“Daah-um.” He said with a low whistle and Shego smiled as she lowered the chair back to a more secure and supported position on his head. “Ladies around here can’t do that. You throw shot in high school?”

“Basketball. College.” Or at least she would have if the NCAA hadn’t declared super powers an unfair advantage and disqualified her.

“Well Ms. D-1 let me help you anyway, you won’t be able to get through the door like that.” Behind him she could see Drakken dragging their suitcases from the car through the front door and had to agree, maneuvering in the house was going to be more difficult, even if she could carry the chair by herself.

“I am not saying you’re right.” She told him as she lowered the chair between them.

“But I’ll help anyway.” The man gave her a smile and extended his hand. “I’m Jack by the way, Jack Hoff, I live behind you kind of diagonally.” He gestured vaguely to her left. “At least I’m assuming you’re Mrs. Lipsky.”

“Oh God no.” The words came out before she even thought and Jack’s head cocked in confusion like he was a Russell Terrier. “Mrs. Lipsky is my mother-in-law.” She added quickly, shaking his hand. “I’m Sera. Just call me Sera.”

“Sure thing Sera. Shall we?” He grabbed one arm of the wingback and Shego got the other and they quickly cross the front lawn to the door – to be held up in a queue of people carrying a King sized mattress and box springs through the door.

“Time?!” Someone called. Jack checked his watch.

“5:21!” He called over his shoulder. “So, what do you do for a living, Sera?” He asked looking back at her.

“I’m an English teacher, I just got a job teaching composition in the City.”

“Very cool. High school?” She nodded. “Then I won’t mention the D Mrs. Coddington gave me in tenth grade.”

“Science, Sex, or Sports?” When she was in college her practicum mentor had liked to try and guess why her students weren’t paying attention in class – what was on their minds – Science, Sex, or Sports?

“Excuse me?”

“Why the D in tenth grade English, what had you so distracted? Was your crush in the class? Were you trying to make the team? Or, like _my husband_ ” That was an awkweird phrase of the first order, “were you so dedicated to being a science guy you had no time for the liberal arts?”[12]

“Oh,” he laughed. “More like a general habit of skipping school though I never felt guilty about cutting English class since I didn’t like it as much as I liked biology.” The Box spring and mattress were finally through the door and they were able to get a move on as well.

“Science then. Do you do something with it now?”

“Yeah, in a matter of speaking, I’m a vet – small, domestic. If you’re interested in getting a pet I’d be happy to help you find one.” It was then she noticed his necklace wasn’t a cross like she’d first assumed but a caduceus necklace.

“That’s very kind of you. Let’s put this in the living room.” She nodded toward the large room.

“I have the cushion to that, I think.” She and Jack had just put the wingback where she wanted it near the stone fireplace when a voice behind them spoke. Standing in the door was another waifish woman, this time brunette and dressed in pale lilac rather than Abigail’s butter cream. Also, unlike Abigail, this woman’s poker face left something to be desired as she regarded Shego’s chlorophyllic complexion.[13]

_Don’t let it get to you. Don’t let them know. Don’t show that you care._ It’d been a long time since she’d had to endure the stares of civilians. At least them staring at her skin. Staring at her plasma, her and Drakken’s death ray – yes, but not like she was a freak of nature. Villainy had been a cushion in that regard, she was par for the course around mad scientists and others with powers. Plus she worked with Drakken, he was a blue as she was green and that helped deflect a lot of the attention.

“Thank you.” She said brightly, as bright and falsely chipper as she’d sounded that horrific week she was the Cheerleader’s teacher. “I’m Sera Lipsky.” She added, extending a hand.

“Helen Beck. I believe you’ve met my husband Stan already.”

“I have! Thank you – thank you all so much for your help in moving us. I feel like we need to have a barbeque or something to thank everyone for doing so much work for complete strangers.” Helen’s face twisted in distress.

“A barbeque?” she repeated as if Shego had suggested ritual blood sacrifice.

“SHE-rie!” Drakken called from the door, nearly flubbing her name again as he bellowed. “We’re on the last load aside from the basketball hoop. Which side of the drive do you want it to be on?”

“East side, please!” She replied, moving toward him and the door.

“A basketball hoop?!” Jack and Helen repeated. Shego had been mistaken, compared to this reaction Helen had been positively ebullient about a barbeque.

“What – What – WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Outside someone (Stan?) was yelling. Drakken turned on his heel to figure out why and Shego followed on his heels, behind her Helen and Jack exchanged worried looks before following.

Outside Stan had accosted the very confused movers who had her portable basketball hoop on a dolly.

“East side of the drive, please.” Shego told the movers in her best teacher’s voice, hoping to make clear that they should listen to her not the man in a pink Izod shirt.

“ _You’re_ a b-ball fan, huh?” Shego simply raised a brow sharply rather than deign Stan’s tone with a reply. Behind her she could feel the heat from Drakken’s chest. He literally had her back in this it seemed.

“Shooting hoops-- that's, um, that's not good.” Stan continued, a little flustered from her glare. _Good._ “That's going to stand out in your front yard.”

Shego wasn’t sure if Drakken was saying “Stand out?” to Stan or “Stand down” directed at her but she could feel her annoyance flaring and his large warm hand on her bare shoulder.

“You know, stand out - not be aesthetically pleasing to the eye.”

“We’re unfamiliar with the concept.” Shego said drolly, waving a hand from her green to Drakken’s blue complexions. Looking around this uniform ring of hell she was certain that she and the doctor were the most saturated colors in the entire neighborhood. Stan at least had the decency to look a bit embarrassed.

“It’s against the CC&R,” Stan muttered, then added with false cheer, “But, hey, you know, maybe you can get special dispensation from Mr. Bissell, president of our Homeowner's Association. I'd take it up with him but in the meantime, um... let's keep that in the garage.” The movers looked at her expectantly and she just nodded, dismissing them toward the garage with a wave. Drakken’s hand remained on her shoulder.

If people were antsy to get them moved because of their stupid six p.m. rule they were now even more anxious to leave. And at exactly 5:59 p.m. they did, along with the moving truck. She and Drakken stood in the door of their Stepford Prison, smiling and waving, waving and smiling as everyone scattered back to their homes. The second the last neighbor was out of the ling of sight Shego let her tight smile collapse into her natural (sour) expression.

“Jesus H. Christ and a windmill full of corpses I need a drink.”[14] She groaned and rubbed her face. “My cheeks hurt.”

“I concur with both statements. But we have to process the “crime scene” first.”

“Dr. D this place is so clean you could build computer chips.” Drakken clearly approved her reference, his smirk told her so but he was resigned as well. His sigh told her this.

“I know but it’s one of the few things the FBI explicitly asked us to do.” He was still standing at her elbow and her ponytail brushed his shoulder as she turned her head to look at him.

“Fine. But we do this sweep fast then I’m going to the closest store and buying a six pack and a pizza before we deal with the rest of …this.” She waved at the piles of books and furniture she definitely recognized from a few different lairs (invasion of privacy much Federal Government?).

“Deal.”

* * *

 

[1]A palindrome is something that is the same forward as it is backward. 0330 and Otto are both examples.

[2]0330 = March 30th. I just picked a date for Shego’s birthday based more on 10 year old me’s weird love of astrology. I thought Shego sounded like an Aires, meaning she’s confident, fiery, bold, spontaneous and independent. Very modern and self-reliant as well as highly motivated, ambitious and competitive. She is also very sulky if she doesn’t get her own way or feels ignored. Related to that I chose Drakken’s birthday as August 2ndmaking him a Leo. He lives for attention, wants to be in charge, is dramatic, warm hearted, outgoing, passionate, and impulsive. He’s also got a big, sensitive ego that is easily damaged. Together Aries and Leo get each other without trying, both are aggressive, egotistical, passionate and overall FUN. Great in bed together. Evenly matched in fighting and stubbornness the big bones of contention are matters of control and each other’s feelings – both getting hurt and needing fulfilled.

I thought it sounded very familiar. But what do I know, I’m a Capricorn.

[3]NorCal = North California. The Tiffany solitaire is probably one of the most iconic engagement rings from one of the most iconic jewelry stores. If you simply Google Tiffany Engagement ring and wedding band I guarantee you one, you will get a lot of hits and two within the first five will be the wedding set described here.

[4]([Native Melody](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JccW-mLdNe0))

[5]1013 is Chris Carter, Creator of the X-Files production company, it is also his and Fox Mulder’s Birthday. Anderson Drive is named after the actress who plays Dana Scully, Mulder’s partner and a goddess, Gillian Anderson.

[6]Cherie = Dear, French.

[7]Like so many other fine details of Kim Possible figuring out exactly how tall Drakken and Shego are ended in me making an executive decision. Similarly I just made up the names and ages of Shego’s siblings, Drakken’s extended family, etc.

[8]CC&R = Covenants, Conditions, and Restrictions, like neighborhood rules for the uptight.

[9]Ma force = My strength, French.

[10]Mon Saucisson = my sausage, French.

[11]Referring to [the scene in Christmas Vacation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-HEUEi2fVSA)where Clark Griswold is at work and starts out wishing his various bosses Merry Christmas and ending with saying “kiss my ass” in the same festive tone.

[12]My father, who currently is a professor of Economics at a Midwestern Land Grant University got a D in economics in high school. On the down slip the teacher wrote “John spends too much time paying attention to Katherine and not enough to the material.” Katherine also got a D in that class and a month after they graduated high school John and Katherine got married. Forty years later they are still married.

[13]Chlorophyll (and science) is why plants are green.

[14]Stolen in part from one of my favorite Cards against Humanity Cards. Also, in case the overall rating didn’t tip you off I will say here that Shego and Drakken are both adults. They are very adulty adults in their late twenties/ early thirties and early forties. They drink, they swear, they have consensual sex. I hope these additions don’t mar your understanding of cannon too much. This being said if beyond their adult behaviors you feel anyone is terribly OOC please tell me. I am unaccustomed to writing the Kim Possible voice.


	4. A Meeting of the Homeowners Association

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end of the chapter for further notes. I have no idea if there is in fact an Arcadia, California and even if there is it doesn’t matter. For this piece of fiction this Arcadia, CA is one of the more snooty suburbs of San Francisco – full of tech libertarians rather than old hippies. As an aside, I have greatly amused myself with naming characters, I recommend you say their first and last names aloud and revel in my puns.

Jim Bissell sat at the head of the massive mahogany table, the lord of the fiefdom of _The Falls_ at Arcadia, California.[1]Down the table, beside the kitchen was his Kim and between them sat the members of the board and their lovely wives.[2]Jim would have been more pleased if the serfs were capable of gleaning more useful information about the new neighbors.

“I couldn’t exactly ask why he was blue.” James Normal’s wife was saying. Everyone who helped the Lipskys move had the same first impression – Mr. and Mrs. Drew Lipsky were colored like they came out of a Crayola box.

“I did ask what he did for a living,” Mrs. Normal continued. “Thinking maybe he was part of that entertainment group but he said he was an inventor – works from home mainly.”[3]

“Maybe that’s why he’s blue. Experiment gone wrong.” Stan’s wife offered.

“If he turned himself blue because of an accident I doubt she’d let him keep working from home.” Stan countered.

“Well she’s already green so what’s the difference.” Mrs. Normal shrugged. “Anyway, she said she had a teaching job at some private school in the city.”

“Can’t be that prestigious to hire a green woman.” His Kim commented and Jim quite agreed. He’d seen the couple from the upstairs window. She’d shown no sense of self-respect in her ripped jeans and tank top tied to show her midriff. Her husband was no better with his _long hair_ and _ponytail_.

“At least they’re analogous rather than clashing colors.” Mrs. Beck offered with a smile that suggested she thought herself a wry wit.

“They do seem nice.” Mrs. Normal offered.

“Yeah, super friendly.” Jack Hoff added. He looked uneasy, however, and he’d hardly touched the paella Kim had slaved over, nor the berry tiramisu Mrs. Beck had brought.

“What do you think Jim?” Stan asked. Jim liked Stan Beck, the man was as detail oriented as he was and had complimentary sensibilities – with order chief among them.

“My compliments to the chef, Ladies.” His Kim blushed prettily and took the hint to disappear into the kitchen. Mrs. Beck and Normal followed and once Jim heard the tap running he began.

“These Lipskys, are they going to play ball?”

“Chlorophyll aside I would say so far so good. He seems like a reasonable man at least. Helen and I will keep an eye on them.”

“Um…Mr. Bissell,” Jack began, “Don’t you think um that maybe this time we tell them? Maybe things’ll uh go better?”

“Jack,” James sat his coffee cup down on its saucer with a clatter of ceramic, “we’ve been through this. We don’t know if we can trust them.”

“I know but maybe they would pay more attention to our rules if they understood the consequences. Otherwise it just seems like there are a lot of rules. It’s the neighborly thing to do really.”

Jim leveled a steady stare at the young veterinarian who blanched.

“If you truly feel that way then son….Godspeed.” The man looked deeply relieved.

“Thank you.”

“Jack, are you feeling well?” Jim pressed, eyebrow cocked. “You look peaked. Maybe some water on your face would help.” It wasn’t a suggestion and Jack knew it.

“Yeah. Um, may I use your-”

“Of course. James you know where the washroom is, maybe you could show him?” The other man nodded and both departed.

“I can talk him out of this, Jim.” He sipped his coffee before replying.

“When? The boy’s a weak link. A strong chain can’t survive a weak link.”

Stan didn’t look pleased but nodded all the same. Pleased or not the man understood.

**~**

The TV was on more for the noise than anything else. Alone in his living room Jack Hoff was mulling over how to bring up… well, everything with the new neighbors.

He’d just decided to lead with bagels when an electric sounding pop made him go stock still. Slowly he turned to look out his front window.

His porch light had been on.

Now it was off.

“Fuck.” Jack swore, scrambling from the sofa to the nearest lamp. The bulb was hot, it’d been on since he got home but Jack ignored the burn. He could treat the blister _after_ he replaced he porch light.

Outside it was worse than he’d feared. The bulb hadn’t burned out, it was broken. Hurriedly he unscrewed the shattered light, glass lodging in his palm.

“Come on.” He growled to himself as the broken bulb fell in his hand and he quickly lined up the replacement. Seconds stretched for eternity but eventually the light flickered on.

“Oh thank GOD.” He was shaking.

Then he heard the footsteps.

“No…no…no, I fixed it! I fixed it!!” His words made no difference.

* * *

 

[1]H. Jim Bissell’s name is Hugh James but his wife calls him Hugh Jim Bissell. #pun

Also, a fief is what the heritable land in the feudal system was called so serfs and farmers worked on the land in the fief and paid rent to their lord.

[2]Hugh Jim Bissell and Kim Bissell, Jack Hoff, Stan Beck, Helen Beck, Abbey Normal and James Normal are the founding board members of the Falls Homeowners Association.

[3]“Part of that entertainment group” = Blue Man Group, obviously. Also of course she wouldn’t be able to remember such an on the nose name.


	5. A Soft Hearted Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hard Headed Woman and (You’re) the Devil in Disguise are both © Elvis Presley, used without permission but with a great deal of affection. See the end of the chapter for further notes.

Processing the house hadn’t taken long at all. Shego had been right, the place was almost sterile enough to perform surgery in. Short of taking up all the carpet or pulling apart the pipes to see if someone had washed blood down the sink with a gallon of water there was nothing but the schmutz from moving.[1]Shego had won the coin toss to go hunt and gather dinner while he started unpacking. They had moved lairs so many times the rhythm of setting up home was an old dance. First thing he had done after Shego’d left was set up the stereo and throw on his _E_ 1 _vis: the Hits_ CD.

Drakken’s love for the King was tied to his father and lazy summer Sundays watching _King Creole_ and _Fun in Acapulco_ and falling asleep on the sofa.[2]Being in the suburbs again was making him nostalgic, even if there was no way in hell his parents could have afforded a neighborhood like this when he was a kid. He hoped his nostalgia would be satisfied (and the CD ended) by the time his sidekick ( _partner_ ) got home or she would mock him mercilessly for the rest of the case.

The second thing he had done after Shego’d left was locate the box labeled “Bath”. She’d made it very clear early on that she didn’t ask much from whatever lair he found for them to hide in but she did _require_ a “real” bathroom that was clean and that the seat was always down. He’d forgotten the second part once and had the plasma mark to show for it. The bathroom was almost literally sparkling clean and so it didn’t take more than five minutes to put up the rubber duck themed shower curtain (he’d thought it was cheery when he’d seen it. Shego had protested of course, because she doesn’t do cheery, but he was certain she secretly liked it considering a framed print of the lyrics to “rubber ducky” appeared about two months after he bought the curtain). Another five minutes he had the cabinet that stood behind the toilet anchored to the wall and stocked with tissue, Kleenex, and Shego’s necessities (he’d acted uncomfortable around a tampon one time and gotten a twenty five minute biology lecture and told to ‘man up’).[3]

The third thing he had done after Shego’d left was get the kitchen sorted, the dishes in particular. Shego had been fairly hangry while they attempted the CSI stuff the FBI wanted. She was going to be ravenous by the time she got back. After living together so long he knew better than to let anything stand in her way when she was hungry.

It hit him, his arm half extended to put a freshly washed plate away, while he’d only lived with Shego half as long as he had his parents he’d never felt more comfortable with anyone in his life. And it wasn’t just because Shego, unlike his mother, never asked him about children (thought that certainly helped). It just was. It had been for a while, he supposed, but it was all crashing in on him now. Now that they were sharing a house, an actual house, not a lair – the difference felt significant.

Agreeing to this case was a bad idea.

_A fucking horrible idea._

The plate in his hand clattered atop the small pile of its clean mates.

_Well a hard headed woman, a soft hearted man_

_been the cause of trouble ever since the world began._

_Oh yeah, ever since the world began_

_a hard headed woman been a thorn in the side of man._

Elvis cut him off before his mind could wonder down the road _of how did we get to this?, what is this even?_ , and _you are definitely going to fuck whatever this is up_. Instead what sprang to mind was the fact that villainy aside Drew Lipsky was a soft hearted man and Seraphina Goh was the hardest headed woman he’d ever met. And God did he love her for it.

_Now Samson told Delilah loud and clear,_

_"Keep your cotton pickin' fingers out my curly hair."_

_Oh yeah, ever since the world began_

_a hard headed woman been a thorn in the side of man._

He was humming, he realized somewhere in the third verse.

By the end he was out “Elvis”-ing Elvis.

“ _I got a woman, a head like a rock. If she ever went away I'd cry around the clock. Oh yeah, ever since the world began a hard headed woman been a thorn in the side of man._ ” He did a little spin and stopped on his toes, which admittedly was more the King of Pop than Mr. Presley, then returned to the sink full of soapy water and started washing the glasses.

The fourth thing he decided to do since Shego’d left was sort the remaining boxes into their appropriate rooms. The upstairs consisted of one bedroomesque room and an attached half bath. It was perhaps slightly larger than the downstairs bedroom but lacked a fireplace and proximity to a shower.[4]It would make a decent office, however. The FBI had seen fit to liberate his least favorite futon from the lab of his Montana lair but it would do for a bed. It would have to do for a bed. In spite of his earlier epiphanies he was not blinded to the fact that his hard headed woman was particular obstinate about issues of space. That king bed Stan Beck had helped haul in the house was all Shego’s.

Ninety percent of the “lab” equipment the FBI and GJ saw fit to send him was actual stuff for processing evidence, nothing he could actually use in his line of work – legal or illegal – unless he took the Serology equipment apart. But he was given a drafting table and a box of different gears, wires, other odds and ends. He could MacGyver something together to keep himself entertained.[5]

_You look like an angel_

_Walk like an angel_

_Talk like an angel_

_But I got wise_

_You're the devil in disguise_

_Oh yes you are_

_The devil in disguise_

“That might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said about me.” So much for not getting caught by his sidekick ( _partner_ ). Drakken stopped his private concert, floor lamp still in his hands as he’d practiced his lunge and thrust while digging through the remaining boxes.

“You’re back.” He was aware that it was a stupid observation to make but at the moment he couldn’t think of a better one.

“Yeah. This is California, you can’t swing a Kate Spade without hitting a Pizza Kitchen or a Trader Joes.”[6]She held up two bright yellow boxes, a clear bowl of salad perched on top, a laminated Trader Joes bag hanging from her hand. In her other hand was a six pack of Coors heavy. Her eyes gave him a pointed once over. “Careful there, Elvis, you might break a hip.”

Slowly Drakken shifted out of his pose, refusing to wince at the fact he’d sort of locked up when Shego had interrupted him.

“What’s in the bag?” Now that she was done teasing him Shego crossed to the high kitchen peninsula and eat at bar to deposit the pizza boxes.

“I picked up some stuff for breakfast on my beer run.” Out of the bag she produced a bottle of orange juice (no pulp – his preference) and a half gallon of skim milk (her preference), Greek yogurt, a box of mixed berries, coffee, and a box of Trix.

“My favorite.” Shego gave him a rueful smile as he looked excitedly at the red box with the rabbit on it.

“Silly Doctor, Trix are for kids.” But there were no other cereals in the bag, nothing more mature like cheerios or shredded wheat so he knew that she was kidding.

He also realized she bought the cereal in the first place because she knew he liked it. She was making him drink that stupid white water they called skim but he was having one of his favorite guilty pleasure foods.

“Pizza smells fantastic.” He said, rather than tip his hand that he was emotionally touched by her remembering what cereal he liked.

“I am _starving_ so I got two plus a salad. One’s Barbeque Chicken the other is Thai.”

“Plates are clean. Let’s eat.” She nodded, detouring to the fridge to put the perishables away before reaching into the cabinet to the left of the sink for the plates. In every lair they had shared it seemed there had always been cabinets either directly over or at least beside the kitchen sink and in every lair they had shared bowls, plates, and cups went in the cabinet to the left, coffee supplies and cereal went on the right.

They ate at the counter, even though Drakken had arranged the kitchen table and chairs in the dining area earlier. Sitting down was entirely too formal when they were drinking beer from the bottle and surrounded by boxes of stuff haphazardly piled to sort of not be in the way. Shego sat on the counter, her black converse swinging childishly beside his leg as she demolished her fourth slice of Thai chicken pizza. He leaned against the counter eating enthusiastically but decidedly less aggressively than his sidekick ( _Partner_ ). It was a companionable silence punctuated by the occasional request to pass the salad or another slice of pizza. In the background Elvis was walking with Kentucky rain in his shoe.

“There is no reason for a wall to be this big or this blank.” Shego observed. What little there was in the way of leftovers had been packed away and they were both on their second beer by the time they started putting the living room together. Most of this furniture had been pinched from their Montana lair as well. It was the least used therefore the least secure but still, the fact that the FBI had shown up at one of his secret homes and packed up all of their stuff was exceedingly annoying.

“Yeah. It’s going to make everything we do look minimalist no matter what aesthetic we try for.”

“That’s a sentence I honestly never thought I’d hear you say.”

“I am more aware of design concepts than you give me credit for, Shego.” She rolled her emerald eyes at him.

“Whatever. You get the TV set up. I’m going to improve the sound track.”

“You can’t improve the sound track – he’s _the King_.” Shego looked over her shoulder at him as she approached the stereo set up in the open space near the kitchen bar.

“Maybe but I live in the United States of Good Music and the only hereditary title I recognize is Prince.”

“Oh whatever Shego.” He replied haughtily as he began walking the wall looking for the cable hookup and an outlet. Elvis was cut off before he could find out if you were lonely tonight. There was a few seconds of silence before the first loping notes of _Secondhand News_ moved the night’s soundtrack from the late fifties to the mid-seventies.[7]When he and Shego differed in musical tastes they differed greatly but when they agreed it was wholeheartedly.

They agreed on Fleetwood Mac.

“Looks like the builders decided that the TV is supposed to go here.” Drakken announced, standing along the large bare wall about a third of the way down from the fireplace and windows that dominated the wall opposite the kitchen.

“I guess that’ll work for no longer than we’re here.” Shego shrugged. “If we put the two chairs by the fireplace and angled the sofa…” A wave of domesticity hit Drakken, harder than it had when he was doing the dishes. It was about a month since the UN ceremony had declared them heroes in the eyes of God and Man. After the ceremony they had retired to their Caribbean lair. That had been a difficult time, coping with their change in status had been difficult. Both had considered themselves villains for so long it was a part of their self-understanding. More than that dealing with the change in their relationship had been difficult. It had changed. Somewhere either in space or in the time before that they had shifted from employer and employee to friends to something more as quietly as morning shifts to noon, to night. The big change had occurred so naturally he hadn’t noticed until he was wrapping her in vines in front of the UN crowd and cameras. In the lair they hadn’t talked about it. Not put words to it, instead dancing around the change. Sometimes in their dance they’d take a step forward – he’d call her his partner, she’d ask about “us” and “we” and “our”. Sometimes they’d take a step backward – he’d touch her shoulder and she’d bolt from the room. She’d ask him a question and he’d put his foot in his mouth in a special kind of way that was a special kind of hell.

And now they were literally playing house.

Okay they were also playing sitting ducks for an alien and/or serial killer abduction but in the meantime she was deciding how to lay out the rug and where to put the end tables.

**~**

The box was labeled “Art I”. It was longer and wider than the other boxes and a bit heavier than he expected when he moved it from the floor near the dining room to the newly positioned coffee table. Arranging the furniture had gone quickly, as had filing the one bookshelf they were given. Never in his life had Drakken lived in a place that had so few books (save his dorm room and that was a matter of space). He personally was a bookworm, preferring technical journals, non-fiction related to his field, sci-fi and fantasy. Shego was worse. He could see the English major in her when he saw the number of books she acquired.[8]In her room in each lair there was at least one massive bookcase over flowing with books, a different selection in every place. He was certain her book collection when brought together in one room would be more extensive than the average high school library. She was currently clucking to herself about the diminished selection as she shelved what books they were given according to some idiosyncratic method he didn’t question.

The big box of art started out promising on top were two minimalist prints showing universal gravitation and general relativity. He was definitely going to steal those once this job was through. Under those canvases were two cardboard tubes. One was labeled “Bus roll and map: Go City” the other was labeled “Bus roll and map: Middleton”.

Then he found the first frame. It was black, probably a 5x5” with a white mat surrounding a 4x4” piece of yellowed paper. In the center was a tiny black ink foot print. A baby footprint. His baby footprint if the cursive handwriting along the bottom edge was any indication – “Drew Theodore Petrie Lipsky, August 2nd, 1963.”[9]

He was going to set something on fire. Possibly this picture but preferably the J. Edgar Hoover Building.[10]

Beneath that frame was an identical one except with a smaller foot and different handwriting “Seraphina Marie Goh, March 30th, 1978”.

He’d been a freshman in high school in 1978.[11]

It was so easy to forget that she was still in her twenties.

He didn’t want to see what else was in the box but like David Mills he was compelled to look in the box.[12]

There was a picture of his parents taken at some backyard party maybe three years before his father died if the style of his mother’s glasses were any indication. His high school graduation tassel in a shadow box. A 5x7 of him wearing goggles playing with his first science kit.

There were other pictures as well, photos as rare and personal to Shego as his were to him. Teenage Shego’s face glowered out at him from a studio portrait with her four brothers. They were wearing street clothes, rather than their jumpsuits but it was clearly after her accident judging by the Technicolor complexions only highlighted by the grey backdrop. There was a copy of her college diploma, framed smartly and declaring that Sarah Marie Goh had a Bachelors of Arts in the course of study prescribed in Secondary Education, English with honors in English _Summa Cum Laude_. A little bit of pain laced through him as he looked at her degree. Not only was it a framed reminder that he himself had dropped out of college all those years ago, but more potently it was a pain for her. She was a sidekick to a mad scientist and he knew none of their compatriots in the evil scientific underworld considered her on the same level as them yet she had somehow gotten through college with two majors and a 3.9 GPA.

“What’cha lookin’ at Dr. D?” She had clearly finished wrestling their red curtains onto the existing brass curtain rods. He could feel the warmth of her on his back as she peeked over his shoulder into the invasion of privacy the FBI was calling art.

“What the actual fuck?!” She was as pleased as he was to see the pictures. She snatched up a 4x6 of a dark haired couple sitting under a beach umbrella and held it protectively (a photo of her parents he assumed).

“The box was labeled Art but none of this was ever in a lair.”

“No shit.” She groused then caught sight of the family photo. “A picture of my brothers? This isn’t just an invasion of privacy but sadistic! How’d they even get these?” Drakken sat heavily on the sofa.

“Well our baby footprints look like they’ve been cropped out of a hospital document, which would have been on file where we were born.”

“ _Baby footprint_?” She repeated incredulously.

“Similarly it wouldn’t be hard to ask the university for a copy of your diploma.”

“MY DIPLOMA?” He held up the frame like it might deflect her plasma. Even if she wasn’t angry with him (for once) her rage was still awesome in the classical sense.[13]

“Congratulations, by the way. You never told me you were Summa Cum Laude.”[14]

“It didn’t strike me as something I’d need to put on a resume for being an evil sidekick.” She snapped, still apoplectic.

“Partner.” Drakken found himself saying.

“Huh?” her ire cooled slightly.

“You’ve been more of my partner than my sidekick for the last few years, I really should have formally given you that title a while ago.” Her expression softened into something he couldn’t read but something he recognized. She had given him a similar look standing beside the podium at the UN ceremony, right before his vines had crushed her to him and made the softness awkward. Even now the look made a tendril spring forth and wrap around her wrist, pulling her to sit beside him on the couch. He had mastered some control over the botany of his body. The vines and blooms were occasionally willful but now much gentler. She sat and the vine retreated.

“Okay, but what about this?” She held up the framed photo of her parents.

Drakken had known they had died well before Shego had come to work for him. He’d never seen a picture of them before.[15]Shego never had a picture of them in her room, at least not that he could see, but then Shego wasn’t much of a picture person. Her parents looked happy sitting on the beach. For having her mother’s figure Drakken was struck by just how much of her father he could see in Shego. She had his pitch black hair, the same mouth, the same nose, the same eyes, although hers were an unnatural shade of green and his were brown.

“I suppose if anyone ever scanned the picture to a computer someone could have gone in and downloaded a copy.”

“I am so glad we never paid taxes if they went to fund this invasion of privacy.” She said with feeling. “Though” something caught her eye in the box. “This almost makes it ok.” She held up a picture frame featuring three vertical photos, she was pointing to the center image and smirking.

He recognized what had her so amused instantly. It was a picture of him and Eddie taken in the parking lot before Meat Loaf’s _Bat Outta Hell_ concert.[16]Eddie had been sixteen and drove which was really the only way he’d gotten to go. If his mother had gotten a look at how he was dressed or the state of the parking lot prior to the concert she’d have taken him home and forbid him from leaving his room.

“Someone’s channeling Marvin Aday a la Rocky Horror. Seriously.”[17]Drakken groaned and tried to cover his flushed face with a hand. Not only was she laughing at his leather vest and side burns but she was twisting the knife quoting his cousin.

“ _Seriously?”_ He growled. She laughed.

“And this picture is kinda cute. Maybe we should hang this up.” She was now looking at the picture of him and his father both bent over the gears of a mantel clock. His dad had always enjoyed clocks. He claimed the gears working properly game him a sense of comfort and making those gears work properly gave him a sense of power.

“What about the third picture?” The third panel of the frame was a recent photo – of them – his vines wrapped tight around their waists, pulling them together, the flower popping up between them was the cherry on the whole damn thing.

“Ugh.” Shego groaned and sat the frame between them. “I get that they’re trying to make this convincing and shit” she waved around at the furniture “but the pictures? Seriously? Are we characters in some trashy romance novel? Does our cover _really_ need to be this deep?”[18]

Drakken massaged his temples like that could stem the headache building or tidy the mess of thoughts tangling in his brain. There were times when he was almost ready to view this undercover thing as a practice run for a relationship outside of work. And then there were moments like this when he was certain he had completely made up any and all interest Shego had in him on any level from professional to personal. He was just a stupid, lonely old man with inappropriate feelings for his much younger employee. He was a fuck up of a person, not just a villain.

“I still think you should hang your diploma.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s impressive, Shego. You have a BA in two fields. You graduated with highest honors from the university and additional honors from your department. You graduated college period. That’s more than I can say.” Beside him Shego was the kind of quiet that told him he’d played too much of his hand and made her uncomfortable with feelings.

“Well, if I hang my diploma you have to hang this.” She said at last. Out of the bottomless box of embarrassment she pulled a shadow box, a copy of the metal the UN had given him displayed carefully.

“That’s not real. I know for a fact where my metal is.” Unless the FBI had broken into their Caribbean lair while they were staying there and bypassed two rounds of biometric locks to access his vault his metal was not in that box.

“Even better, the real one is safe but we can still hang this one on the wall and tell the world that we saved it. You were smarter than not just GJ scientists and James Possible but also extraterrestrial technology. You might not have a diploma but Doc you’re still a fucking genius.”

*Bloop*

There was absolutely no way to stop flowering, not when she sounded proud of him. Legitimately proud of him. And she said “we”.

“Damn it.”  Shego laughed as she helps him rip the petals off. It doesn’t hurt, per say, when she rips away the plant parts, just like it doesn’t hurt, per say, when they spring forth but it is an intense sensation in its own right, like a tickle and an itch and the feeling of pins and needles when your foot falls asleep.

“’Nother beer?” She asks when the last petal is on the ground. It would be his third in, he checked his watch, going on three and a half hours. He wasn’t drunk, he wouldn’t be drunk even after finishing a third bottle of Coors Banquet, plus he didn’t have to drive.

“Why not.” While Shego retrieved the last two bottles from the six pack he finishes emptying the box onto the coffee table and sofa. Some of the pictures really are “mocking gold” like little Shego in braids standing in a fierce pose wearing a white martial arts outfit with a black belt around her waist. Of course she would excel at things she put her mind to, the way she looked after her nails smacked of some stripe of obsessive behavior.

Under little Shego was a pair of pictures he dreaded more than any photo of them entwined in his vines. The Moodulator incident. Of course the FBI would dress these photos up like they were some great romantic moment in their partnership. But it wasn’t. This was Shego not in her right mind. He’d played with her free-will before and she’d opened his eyes to a lot of things about agency once she was returned to herself. These pictures reminded him not of the kisses they’d shared in that damn booth but of all the terrible things that could have happened her under the influence of emotional manipulation. It reminded him of the terrible thing he’d done to her.

A beer appeared in his peripheral vision and he looked up from his own uncomfortable face to take it. Shego was holding her own drink but focusing on the table where the second of the two three panel frames sat. Where the first had pictures of him, this one was pictures of her, save the third panel which was a picture of them. A picture of them he didn’t recognize, he realized. Scooting closer on the sofa so that his shoulder brushed her hip he examined the photo as well. They were at the reception after the award ceremony, they were standing close together facing one another his hand looking large on her bare arm as she gazed up at him her own hand nearly touching his face. The picture told an intimate, candid story. But he remembered that moment, she was about to ignite that hand near his cheek because he was trying to tell her to calm down. The hand on her arm was less intimate and more a precaution to keep her from charging her elder brother, Hego, who had arrived at the ceremony and proceeded to get on every nerve in Drakken’s body as well as royally piss off Shego.

He took a long swig of beer. He could completely understand why Shego was not a fan of her brothers. Hego, in particular was bad, rather like Adam West combined with his mother to create a hero so naïve and over the top who still found time from his moralizing on law enforcement to moralize on the importance of marriage and having children.[19]He’d given Drakken the what for about his intentions toward Shego and being honorable and how much he disproved of them living together even if it was in a lair with separate bedrooms and bathrooms.

“What the hell.” Shego announced. He looked up at her to catch the way she tipped her head back to take a long drink of her beer, her neck looking particularly elegant extended and with her hair pulled back. His pretend wife was truly a beautiful woman. “That wall going up the stairs is almost as big as this one” she nodded her dark head to the wall with the TV on it. “And so _blank._ If nothing else these pictures will break up all that white.”

It took an hour, a laser level, a protractor, and more bickering than usual to get all the pictures hung. But as his watch struck ten thirty they were done with the living room. Leaning against the stair rail Shego covered a deep yawn with her left hand before looking approvingly at the final result.

“Looks nice, if pictures are your thing, I guess.” He joined her leaning against the rail. It did look nice, it also reminded him strongly of his home growing up. His mother had lined the main hallway with the 5x7 prints of his school pictures from kindergarten until he graduated high school.

“Living room is done, I would say.” He said, yawning himself. “Bathroom is done, what little they gave us in the way of kitchen equipment is put away,” he rattled off. “That leaves your bedroom and my office yet to unpack and set up.”

“ _My_ bedroom? Where are you going to sleep tonight? I only saw the one bed.”

“For tonight? Probably the sofa.” Of all the things Shego could have said he was not prepared for what she did say. “The FBI saw fit to pack the futon from the Montana lair so tomorrow I’ll put it together and then I’ll sleep on it.”

“Oh god, the blue one?” She looked up at him and made a face. “You are not allowed to sleep on that futon Doc you always wind up cranky and in pain and a miserable S.O.B. every time you do.” It was the most uncomfortable thing he’d ever slept on and he’d spent considerable time in various jail cells.

“The sofa then, I’ve napped on it before. It’s comfortable.” Shego was looking up at him, her lower lip caught between her teeth. She’d skipped makeup today, and her lips without their usual dark tint were fascinating. As was the way she worried her lip with her teeth, she only did that little tic when she was sincerely contemplating something and unsure of how to proceed.

“You’re too tall for the sofa.” She said finally. “Plus with all the windows in the living room someone might see you sleeping and then the neighbors will talk. You’ll blow our cover.”

“Then I guess I’ll be making a run to Walmart for an inflatable mattress.” Damn difficult woman.

“I’m not saying that.”

“Well, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that it’s a big bed.”

* * *

 

 [1]Schmutz – a Yiddish word for grime or dirt.

[2]King Creole, 195-. Fun in Acapulco, 195- both staring Elvis. I don’t know why but Drakken very much strikes me as a guy who would listen to some Elvis. Moreover I imagine his childhood as being very ordinary and suburban. Father worked as a medical statistician in a hospital, mother was a bank teller, rode bikes in the street until the lamps came on in the evenings. That kind of thing. An only child but a normal child. Well as normal as an only child can be (speaking from experience).

[3]Women have periods, they use tampons and pads I don’t know why guys are afraid of this or why it’s funny that guys are afraid of this. Okay, I’ll get off my soapbox now.

[4]Mel and Ann Arky had made their bedroom upstairs and the room with the fireplace on the main floor into a library, not minding the distance it was from bed to shower. In case ya’ll are trying to map this in your head.

[5]MacGyver, an ABC action adventure show that ran from 1985 to 1992, which followed the exploits of Angus MacGyver a special agent famous for defeating villains not with guns but his ability to assemble a ridiculously hodgepodge collection of items into useful things through his encyclopedic knowledge of physics and engineering.

[6]SO MUCH PRODUCT PLACEMENT. Kate Spade = Designer of purses, accessories, etc. Pizza Kitchen = Pizza restaurant that does take out, sit down, and froze pizza, pasta, and salad. Trader Joes = Grocery. Coors heavy = Coors Banquet, as opposed to Coors Light.

[7]Secondhand News is the first track off of the Fleetwood Mac album _Rumors_ , which won a bunch of awards in 1978 and is personally, one of my all-time favorite albums. I would apologize for giving Drakken and Shego my taste in music except I have awesome taste in music imho so sorry, not sorry.

[8]Shego’s degree is generally referred to as Child Development however I am choosing to deviate from this mainly because I am more familiar with English and Ed majors. Plus Shego has a well-established grammar geek side which strongly reminds me of a friend with and English Composition degree. Also, as a book fiend myself I am incapable of writing characters that don’t love books and reading.

[9]My theory on the “P” in Drakken’s name is that it is his mother’s maiden name. Why I chose Petrie to be this surname is because in the original X-Files episode which this story is based the name Mulder and Scully went under while investigating was Rob and Laura Petrie, which itself was a nod to the Dick Van Dyke show.

Also I’m setting Kim and Ron’s graduation date in May of 2007 and this story occurring roughly a month afterwards (thus mid to late June) therefore Drakken is approaching his 44thbirthday. I am following the wisdom of several other fanfictions I’ve seen that peg the age gap between Drakken and Shego at around fifteen years, thus Shego turned 29 in March of 2007. The older I get the less I care about age gaps.

[10]J. Edgar Hoover Building in Washington DC is the FBI headquarters.

[11]It’s generally accepted that Drakken was in his early forties by the end of Kim Possible with Shego anywhere from ten to twenty years younger than he. For this story Drew is about 44 and Shego is about 30 – almost a fifteen year difference.

[12]David Mills, Brad Pitt’s character in the movie Se7en – which is FANTASTIC if you haven’t seen it yet. One of his lines is “What’s in the box?” The answer is a MAJOR spoiler.

[13]Before it was bandied about on the internet and in casual conversation “awesome” was used to describe things that truly inspired awe. Like Niagara Falls. Not because there might be a casino and a bar and if you’re an American and go over to the Canadian side you can drink before you’re twenty one but because those falls are so large and so fast and so very powerful you feel small in comparison.

[14]Summa Cum Laude is a latin phrase which means “with highest honor”, I suppose qualifications vary across colleges and high schools and whatnot but essentially graduating with highest honor, high honor (magna cum laude), or with honor (cum laude) is tied back to one’s GPA.

[15]Thomas and Eloise Goh died in the comet strike that gave their five children super powers, the Goh children were then placed in federal custody and both trained and studied for their powers. Shego became a hero and lost her freedom the moment the comet struck.   
Theodore Lipsky, Drew’s father, died of liver cancer in the 1980s.

[16]Meat Loaf’s Bat Outta Hell tour was from 1977-1978, when Drakken in this story was about 15. Also for the sake of this story Cousin Eddie is slightly older than Drew, I can’t remember if who was older was established in the cannon or not. Finally, I chose Meat Loaf as a concert Eddie and Drew would have gone to mainly because I think Eddie looks like the kind of guy that would be really into 70s Meat Loaf. I also realize I have a very odd taste in music and would like to apologize agian if you either A don’t get/ or like the references I’ve put in or B think it’s particularly out of character.

[17]Marvin Aday is the birth name of the musician Meat Loaf who appeared in the 1975 film “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” as Eddie. _Brad and Janet bless my soul…_

[18]Not some trashy romance novel, Shego, just some two-bit fanfiction.

[19]Adam West = 1960s Batman which was super cheesy and had particularly bad special effects. Nonetheless is beloved by many.


	6. A Hard-Headed Woman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end of the chapter for further notes.
> 
> Cookies to anyone who spots the Archer reference.

“Which side of the bed do you want?” Even with super strength setting up the bed had been a chore. Mattresses were awkward to get a proper grip on. The neighbors who had helped move them had done little more than tote and carry. The one favor they did do them was to put the mattress in the main floor bedroom. The bedframe had gone together quickly as had the agreement that they would arrange the rest of the furniture in the morning.

At least that was what she thought they agreed to, she’d spaced out nearly everything since she looked her boss – partner – in the eye and invited him to share the bed. Temporary insanity. She’d momentarily lost her mind standing on the stairs looking at their lives integrated seamlessly on the wall and now she couldn’t take it back. That would be infinitely more unfair than leaving him to sleep on the sofa in the first place.

“Shego?” And now they were deciding on sides of the bed… That would teach her to have feelings.

“Left.” She finally said, the choice arbitrary. She didn’t share beds, she didn’t have a side. When it came to actually sleeping whomever she was entertaining could GTFO and find their own space – preferably far from her.

“Alright.” Drakken said softly. “Do you know where the sheets are?” She didn’t need to watch him to know he winced at the question. She winced at the question.

“I think I saw a box labeled bedding in the laundry room.” She was grateful for the escape.

Making the large bed was quick with another set of hands but substantially more uncomfortable when those hands were Drakken’s.

Agreeing to this case was a bad idea.

_A fucking horrible idea._

Her evening toilette had taken on new meaning now that someone was on the other side of the door waiting Not someone but _him_ and she hates him at this moment for making her hands shake as she puts her raven mane into a manageable plait. She’d been ignoring these feelings for years why couldn’t she keep doing that?!

Tightening the belt of her summer robe Shego was ready to admit she’d run out of reasons to avoid him. With a sigh she exited the safety of the main bathroom.

Drakken had change in the (their) room while she’d been in the bath, his robe tied tightly around him like a shield while he fiddled with a table lamp. Drakken was never able to just sit, if he wasn’t building he was sketching and planning. Even watching TV his hands were doing something.

“I thought lights might help.” He said awkwardly when he noticed her in the door.

“I was thinking of reading before bed…so thank you.” The Doc nodded and looked uncomfortable as he moved to what was “his” side of the bed.

“I’m uh just going to well…sleep.” They both stared at the bed, red comforter a perfect flag _DANGER ZONE._

“I won’t keep the light on too long, I’m pretty exhausted.” Focusing on taking off their on robes and crawling between grey sheets they succeeded in not looking at each other.

“Um. Good night.” Drakken said after a long moment. She could feel him shifting around into a sleeping position as far from her as he could manage and stay on the mattress.

“Night.” Shego heard herself say as she reached for the novel she’d tossed on the bed before changing.

_The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao_ was not holding her attention, through no fault of its own and in spite of her best efforts. It was just hard to compete with the tangle of thoughts having one’s boss in bed tended to produce.

She’d made her peace with her feelings for Drakken a little under a year ago. Leaving him in prison had been a dick move but it was the only way she could guarantee herself space to breathe – to think. She stayed with his stupid blue ass because she liked it- liked him. Really and truly, even when he was acting like an asshat she preferred him above everyone. Realizing her feelings and doing something about them were two different beasts, however. There was no way to naturally bring up the topic since Drakken studiously avoided discussing romance in anyway and did his best to avoid acknowledging she was a woman at all.

The vine at the UN ceremony had been the first clear indication that his feelings were more than just a weird brand of codependency and friendship.  There was, of course, no opportunity to talk about anything after the ceremony. Drakken had been as skittish as a rabbit since they returned to their Caribbean lair. And she did want to talk (actually she didn’t but she knew that what she actually wanted to do – namely jump his bones - traumatize him), Drew Lipsky was sensitive and geeky and clueless so spelling everything out in unequivocal terms on top of actually making a move would possibly get the message through this thick skull. Maybe.

Maybe this case wasn’t so bad after all, Shego decided, closing her book and setting it on the nightstand. Personally and professionally she and Drakken needed to shit or get off the pot – were they an item or weren’t they, were they still villains or were they going legit? They had literally nothing to do except sit in this house together. Surly they could figure things out.

At least she hoped.

Shego awoke slowly, it was nice to do so for once rather than being jarred from sleep by her alarm clock or Drakken’s bellow. For a moment her sleep hazed brain didn’t know where she was, it just knew that it was the most comfortable place her body had been in a long time. She liked it here, cocooned in a sheet and wrapped around a solid, warm mass. Everything smelled like dryer sheets, soap, with a hint of metal and WD-40.

Shego’s brain finally began processing sensations properly. She was in bed alright, in a house in California, with her boss. The man in question was now her personal little spoon. That heady, safe smell was _him_. The strength under her hands, the warmth, all of that was him. They had sifted in the night until they were wrapped together in the middle of the bed, her arms slung around his waist, anchoring him in place.

That firmness her hand was cupping wasn’t his knee, she realized. The second she realized it was his penis, she of course gave it a small squeeze because her body decided to have a mind of its own - and a penis in hand meant something. When she realized that not only was he firm in her hand but large as well something deeply inappropriate sent a thrill through her.

Slowly Shego began moving herself – and her hand – away from Drakken. He was currently snoring softly but the last thing she needed was for him to wake up and catch her grouping him, however unintentional it was. Once she was certain that if he woke up he wouldn’t know what she’d done in the night Shego shot from the sheets. Standing beside the bed she pulled her hair in frustration – could she be a bigger idiot? She didn’t need the light of day to tell her that but now that she was standing in it the fact was painfully obvious. She knew she had feeling for the blue dope. Had had them for a while, try as she might to dismiss them. She also knew neither of them had their shit together enough to even think about actually embarking on an adult relationship.

She also knew that the warmth of his morning wood was still making her hand – and vagina – tingle. At some point she’d started wanting him.

Swallowing a very frustrated scream she threw herself at her suitcase, dragging the entire thing into the bathroom to change into her running togs. She’d work this frustration out on the street rather than the sheets – as much as she wanted to. Maybe if she ran far enough away from this problem she’d find it resolved on her return (a woman was allowed to dream.)

Dressed in a lightweight long sleeve lime green visibility shirt and a pair of spandex shorts Shego exited the garage ten minutes later. Leaving the garage door up with the interior door open was as bad as just leaving the front door unlocked but whatever. She’d been spoiled by biometric locks on the various lairs. Carrying a key was a habit she’d gotten out of. Heading down the manicured street she hoped her 180 bpm playlist and the open road would erase her morning.

Unfortunately not.

Every song somehow led her mind back to Drakken. The number of songs about wanting love, having love, or losing love made ignoring things impossible. It wasn’t about wanting him – not entirely – though he was so far from what she thought her type was he actually started to circle around to meet it from the other side. It was the vulnerability. It was starting something new and unknown. It also had a pinch of power dynamics – even though he called her his partner she’d been his employee for so long. Sleeping with the boss was still very much an accusation with some weight.

There were reasons. So many reasons. Yet she still wanted what she wanted. And what she wanted was a six-foot genius supervillain turned hero with a delicate ego, short temper, midlife crisis ponytail, and sky blue skin.  Drakken.

Drew.

Drakken had the power an evil with all its allures. But Drew had his own charms. He was sincere and supportive. Sweet even. And she was sharing a home with him. A home. Not a lair. Not a prison cell or some shady bolt hole of an apartment on the run from the cops. It was a house with plates and pictures, cable and a two-car garage.

Nigh an hour later Shego had circled the neighborhood while her mind had circled the problem of Drakken. If ever there was a time to make a go of a relationship it was now. No pressure to succeed, no witnesses if they failed.

She wasn’t going to bring it up, however, didn’t want to face it. If the morning was any indication something was bound to occur naturally….

Such as his death.

Shego rounded the bend to the house to find the garage door she’d left up was now down.

_He better have unlocked the front door._

He hadn’t. Shego tried the handle twice and even with her superior strength it would not budge. She thought about putting a little plasma to the lock but they’d promised to keep on the DL as much as a green woman and a blue man could. Blasting open the front door their first morning would be the opposite of on the “down low”. So instead she rang the bell.

And she rang the bell again.

She knocked.

She knocked.

She rang the bell a third time.

She pounded.

“WHAT?!” Drakken threw open the door to glare at her, chest heaving. He was still in his pajamas – linen pants and white undershirt stretched tight over his broad chest. His feet were bare, and he was sleep mussed. Against her will the memory of his solid warmth tingled through her.

“Did it even occur to you I might need to get back in the house or did you think I’d literally tried to run away?” She snapped, brushing past him.

“What?” He asked again.

“The garage door – I left it open for a reason.” Speaking of left open Drakken was still holding the front door open. He was as bleary eyed as he was rumpled. Like she’d gotten him out of bed just now.

“What?” He yawned.

“Stop playing stupid! You locked me out of the house!” Shego snapped. Drakken let the door close under its own weight. He really must have just woken up because instead of bristling when she called him stupid he just rubbed his eyes.

“I did what now?” he asked after a second yawn (which made her yawn and some of her anger fade, damn him).

“When you shut the garage door you locked me out. I didn’t take my keys on my run. I don’t have pockets.” She could have stuck it down her bra but that thought came to her now.

“Shego, I didn’t shut the garage door, I just got up when you started pounding on our door.” He sounded a little more awake. Looking at him Shego was willing to admit he looked like he was telling the truth. He had bedhead.

It was actually adorable.

Indignant at the realization she huffed,

“Well it was down when I got back, and the front door was locked.”

“Maybe it’s on a timer.” The mad scientist offered.

“Whatever. I need a shower.” She really did, the sweat was drying into an uncomfortable layer of salt and her hair was sticking to her neck. Drakken said nothing as she retreated to the bathroom, her bag still sitting on the counter.

Under the spray (cold because she was overheated by the run and NOT other reasons) Shego focused on keeping her mind on cleaning herself and the case. She was NOT thinking of her boss’ broad chest or how large his morning wood had felt in her hand.

Exploring the neighborhood! If these were alien abductions checking for physical evidence would be important – crop circles and shit. If the disappearances were because of some psycho killer, figuring out where they observed their victims was important. If she wanted to keep her sanity getting out of the house was important – a must, really.

Washed, dried, and changed the scent of coffee hit her as she exited the master bathroom half an hour later. Shego found Drakken seated at the kitchen table, coffee in hand, empty bowl at his elbow, the comics of yesterday’s paper stretched across his knee. He was still in his pajamas but was decidedly less mussed and more awake.

“Shower’s yours.” She said by way of greeting. Drakken rubbed his chin and finished reading _Bloom County._

“Excellent. This stubble is itchy.” He pronounced. It shouldn’t be surprising that he could get dark facial hair considering how thick, long, and black the hair on his head was but typically he shaved before she saw him in the morning. Now that she wasn’t locked out she could take in the rare sight of Drew Lipsky unshaven.

She wished she hadn’t. The intimacy of last night was back in the light of day.

Saying nothing she poured herself a very large, very black cup of coffee.

_Get your shit together Shego._  She scolded herself. _You’ll be stuck in this limbo forever if you don’t._ Hadn’t she just finished deciding this was as good a time as any to figure out and resolve all the tension she was feeling?

She sipped her coffee. It was strong and black and bitter – like her heart. _Maybe this was a bad idea._

Very faintly she could hear the shower and Drakken’s gravelly singing from the bathroom. She couldn’t make out the words but could hear the gusto. She smiled in spite of her bitter black heart. _Maybe this wasn’t a bad idea after all_.

TRY.

She would have to actually try.

She was going to.

“What are you doing?” Trying lasted all of three feet from their door. After locking up Drakken had woven his fingers through hers and began to walk. He stopped and looked at her for a moment before his dark eyes fell to their twined hands.

“We’re supposed to be married.” He offered, still staring at their hands, his wedding band peeking and winking at them from between her fingers.

“So?” She asked but didn’t drop their hands.

“This is what married people do in the suburbs.” Drakken informed her.

_Seraphina Marie didn’t you just convince yourself to try? So TRY!_  A voice, sounding entirely too much like her Go City Police captain, shouted in her head. Captain Clayton had always pushed her to the next level. There was no backing down, only do it until you did it right. Harder. Better. Faster. Stronger. It had been ages since that part of her childhood had invaded her brain. Shego relaxed into the contact. Holding hands with Drakken wasn’t … bad. In fact, if felt quite nice – natural even. Without the layers of gloves between them his skin was warm and intimate.

“Suburbs suck.” She declared, her hand still in his, as she began to walk again. Drakken’s long legs made up for the fact she’d surprised him with two strides. His steps then fell into pace with hers.

“And that’s why I’ve never returned once I got out.” Drakken intended the comment to be off hand, he was entirely too distracted by everything to think straight and keep even slightly aloof from his lippy sidekick ( _partner_ )  (who _was_  being slightly less obstinate than usual).

“You used to live in a place like this?” He looked around at the manicured lawns and nearly identical architecture and the woman by his side that felt more like home than any place he’d ever laid his head and shrugged.

“Not nearly this nice, mind you, but my childhood home in Northeast Middleton had all the same tropes.” His parents had done their best to provide him with the best they could afford, but middle-class amenities had always come with middle class morality and a definition of normal that was suffocating even before he was blue and evil.

“Surly Go City has similar parts.” Shego shifted from looking up at him to down at her feet.

“It does, but after the comet we were wards of the city and the slapped us in that God-awful tower in the center of town, so we could be heroes on call.” She sounded a little bitter, she sounded a little hurt. Drakken winced. Shego rarely talked about her past, other than that she generally hated being a hero and couldn’t stand her brothers. He’d known her parents had died. He’d not given much thought to what all that meant on a practical level.

“’m sorry.” He offered for want of anything else to day.

To his eternal surprise Shego squeezed his hand.

“Hey, I got out. The lairs have been _way_ better than the tower. Even that stupid hole in Montana.”

The words that left her were honest and that made her suddenly want to insult him. She needed desperately something to stave off this vulnerability she was feeling.

_Trying sucks_ she decided as she bit down hard on her sarcastic rejoinder. For his part Drakken looked floored but didn’t say anything. It was a beautiful, heartfelt, awkward moment.

They continued on in beautiful, awkward silence, both pretending they believed the other was actually looking around the neighborhood for clues.

“Isn’t that Stan?” Apparently Drakken really was looking around the neighborhood, his voice low in her ear caught Shego completely off guard. A drive and a half down from them Stan, the man from yesterday, stood spraying off the concrete front porch of a non-descript, Stepford-esque house with a green garden hose. Something nagged at her even more than the fact he was watering concrete in California where there were pretty intense drought conditions.

“Doesn’t he live next to us?” Drakken continued.

“Oh my God, yes!” That’s what it was. “I think Jack Hoff said he lived around here.”

“Hey neighbors!” Drakken didn’t have a chance to ask which one Jack Hoff was before Stan saw them and waved an obnoxiously cheerful wave. “All settled in? How’d the first night treat ya?” Drakken had many feelings about last night, none of which he could share with this human Ned Flanders.[1]He looked at Shego, her smile was tight and pained, a farcical facial expression really.

“Just great, Stan, the house is as beautiful this morning as it was last night, though we still have the odd box or two hanging around.” Drakken lied effortlessly. “Before we put the finishing touches on the house Sera and I thought a walk would be nice. Lovely weather we’ve been having, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely. Why anyone would want to live anywhere else is beyond me.”

“You’ll have to forgive me for being rude,” Shego chimed in, “But I’m still trying to learn the neighborhood and everyone in it, don’t you live in the sweet little split level next to us?” Shego’s voice sounded so sincere Drakken was taken aback. It was only the calculating gleam in her eyes that reassured him the woman holding his hand was in fact an unmoodulated Shego, in possession of her own personality and free will.[2]

“Not at all! You’re absolutely right, Mrs. Lipsky, my wife Helen and I live next door. This is Jack Hoff’s house. He asked me to look after it for him while he’s away on business.”

Something in that reply meant something to Shego, he could feel it in her posture, see it in the glint of her emerald gaze.

“Does Jack take a lot of business trips?” Her tone was conversational and light, yet a flicker of darkness passed over Stan’s features.

“Oh yeah, loads – often quite long, I was surprised he was home to help you move. Work takes him all over.”

“How exciting to have a job that allows you to travel, once the school year starts we’re pretty stationary unfortunately. What’s he do?” The tension apparent in Stan’s spine was enough to completely distract Drakken from Shego’s use of the “w” word.[3]

Stan cleared his throat.

“Know I don’t rightly know – other than that he travels. Now I have to get finished up here and get home so I can get started on Helen’s honey do list or else I’d offer you a tour.” The man had absolutely no poker face, he was suddenly wild for them to leave.

“That’s very kind of you but wondering aimlessly works quite well for us.” Drakken moved from holding her hand to wrapping that arm around Shego’s trim waist. She tensed but didn’t comment.

“Fair enough.” Stan sounded relieved. “Maybe instead of a tour you two would be interested in having dinner with my wife and me. Maybe tomorrow night?”

“Sounds delightful! We’ll bring dessert.” Drakken accepted before Shego could react.

“Perfect, how about you pop by around six for cocktails before supper.”

“We’ll see you then.” Drakken confirmed. Using the arm around her waist for leverage he then led his sidekick ( _partner_ )  away from the house.

“What was that about?” Shego groused as Drakken practically drug her down the sidewalk, his hand burning through her clothes where it rested on her hip. She had been on to something, Stan was clearly lying, he was worse at it than Drew. He’d known what Jack did for a living and Shego’d bet her shoes – it didn’t involve any travel. They’d been in town twelve hours and they had another disappearance and a suspect.

“First rule of the suburbs, Shego, don’t stick out. Second rule, don’t ask hard question or talk about interesting subjects. Why do you think people are obsessed with the current atmospheric conditions? It’s safe.”

“Hate to beat it to ya, Dr. D but we’re never gunna follow rule number one.”

“So then we need to be extra careful about rule number two.” Shego found the most comfortable place for her inside arm was round his shoulder when his arm was around her. Shego had shunned physical contact for so long that being so wrapped up in another person was bringing forward all kinds of feelings. Including pleasant ones.

“How are we supposed to solve this case then?”

“Strategy Shego.”

* * *

 

[1]Ned Flanders, as always, is Homer Simpson’s frienemy.

[2]See “Emotional Sickness” for an explanation of the moodulator, Shego also loses her free will to Drakken’s mind control device in “The Twin Factor”.

[3]The ‘w’ word is of course “we”.


	7. You Gotta Fight for Your Right to (Dinner) Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter title is a play on the directive from the Beastie Boys – You gotta fight for your right to party. [1]  
> The alternative title for this chapter is “Wonderful Tonight” which is a Clapton classic. 
> 
> I feel like this chapter takes me way out onto a limb as far as characterization and plausibility. Please suspend your disbelief as best you can, but if you really can't let me know in the comments!

**Disclaimer:** It’s impossible that I own Kim Possible. #sorry #hadto. Kim Possible (© Disney), X-Files (© Chris Carter, et al.).

* * *

 

 

Chapter Seven: You Gotta Fight for your Right to (Dinner) Party[1]

Shego had disappeared to get ready for their evening over an hour ago. Even in his “office” upstairs Drakken could hear the shower running and the low din of the radio. There was no hiding from one another, as there was in their lairs. Here there was only varying levels of intimacy and intrusion.  

Bringing his mug down to the kitchen for more tea he could hear Eric Clapton drifting from the speakers in the bathroom.[2]He could also hear the distressed sigh coming from the bedroom (it was too much to refer to it as their bedroom).

Shego stood before the small closet, hands on her hips, grey satin robe tied tightly around her. The look she directed at their limited wardrobe was lethal. She didn’t have to say what the problem was, he could read it in the line of her spine and the set of her shoulders. _What am I supposed to wear_?

“It’ll be chilly this evening I hear.” Drakken spoke softly, hoping to avoid startling her. He failed. Shego jumped and spun, hand clutching the neck of her robe, making sure it was closed all the way to her chin. Her face was bare of all makeup and her hair was only roughly towel dried.

“What are you doing here?” Drakken blushed.

“Went to get more tea? Thought to mention the forecast?” The truth was painfully awkward. “So maybe pick something with sleeves?” he finished weakly.

“Whatever.” Shego had regained her confidence and control, roughly she pushed passed him to the bathroom. He watched as she began brushing her long dark hair.

“I’ll be ready in an hour; don’t you have some tinker toys to go play with?” He was dismissed. Awkwardly Drew returned to the kitchen, from muffled speakers he could hear Etta Jones singing about bells on a hill.[3]

When he had been little, and his father had been well, his parents had been a part of a supper club. The first Saturday of the month his parents would dress up, his mother would bake something scrumptious, and they would head out for an evening of dinner and dancing. Except for every fourth month when three other couples would descend on their home and the sitter would take him out for pizza and to the arcade.

There were only a few dishes in the sink, not enough to put in the dishwasher. Drakken found himself filling the sink. On Saturdays of supper club his mother would run around the house in curlers and a scarf, setting her “fancy” hair while baking. Once dessert was completed to her satisfaction she would disappear into the master suit to prepare for the evening. His father would always wait patiently for her to finish primping, doing the dishes to pass the time until he needed to change himself. His father would play the radio – jazz – as he washed. His parents had loved jazz. Drew could remember watching them dancing in the kitchen to Sinatra, Martin and Bennett.[4]Growing up he had wanted a love like that. His parents had not inspired him to remain on the side of good, but their relationship – affectionate, honest, kind – had set the standard by which he judged all other romantic opportunities.

_Tell me quando quando quando… **[5]**_

He had found the woman he wanted to dance in the kitchen with for the rest of his life.

~

Shego had been in the bath when he’d decided to get ready himself for dinner. He still had no idea what she was wearing so he made an educated guess for his own outfit – dark jeans and a blue-grey chambray shirt, he only hoped he wasn’t too monochromatic. Having a uniform had spoiled him – no decisions necessary and he’d always looked put together.

“Shego” Drew found himself bellowing as he arranged his masterpiece, a gorgeous raspberry Charlotte, on the cake stand he went out and bought for the specific purpose.[6]“We’re going to-”

“Do I look alright?” Shego worried a lock of her raven hair as she asked her question, uncharacteristically insecure. Thief that she was, she robbed him of breath. The dress she had chosen had long, almost sheer sleeves and wrapped around her body, making her waist appear tiny, highlighting her hourglass figure. The V neckline gave a glorious hint of cleavage and delicate collarbones. Her accessories were minimal, the diamond solitaire of her wedding set sparkling with an inner glory in the dim light.

“Yes,” he choked through a dry mouth. “You look wonderful tonight.”

~

At exactly 6:00 Shego rang the doorbell of 1011 Anderson. He carried the bright fruity dessert on its pedestal with two hands, not wanting anything to happen to his baby. (He had called his mother for this recipe; his emotional labor had gone into the cake as much as his physical labor had). Shego had rolled her eyes at his protective streak but had also slipped her hand into the crook of his arm as they walked down one drive way and up another. The voluntary contact had made him soar as well as tense up. Now was the true test of their undercover skills and no one would believe such a beautiful lady was really married to a dork like him.

Shego gave his arm a little squeeze and cast him a sidelong look.

“Do you feel alright?”

“I feel wonderful tonight.” He lied as the door swung open, revealing a perfectly coifed Mrs. Helen Beck in pearls.

“Sera! Drew! Please, come in.” Mrs. Beck’s voice was warm and welcoming, but shock and uncertainty was still in her eyes. Living life as a blue civilian was much different from being a blue villain.

“Thank you so much for having us.” Shego said, leading the way into the home. Her voice and manners were so different from her usual demeanor that he was certain a switch had flipped on some latent personality device.

“You’ll want to refrigerate this until about twenty minutes before we eat it.” Drakken informed their hostess as he passed the bright pink dessert over to her, earning him a different sort of confused stare.

“Oh! It looks lovely. You really went all out.”

“Wow! Mrs. Lipsky,” Stan joined his wife in greeting their guests and admiring the Charlotte. “That is an impressive dessert.” Drew felt his teeth grind slightly, why did they both assume Shego had baked – was it inconceivable that he could have made the dessert?[7]It had taken him all damn afternoon – yesterday – to make the thing.

_Forget it, Drew. It’s the suburbs._ His inner monologue told him in Joe Mantell’s voice.[8]Of course everyone would assume his “little wife” would be the family cook.

“Actually, that was all…Drew’s handiwork. I just licked the spoon at the end.” Shego said brightly, only stumbling slightly in using his real name. It sounded both so right and so wrong to hear her call him Drew and to hear the pride in her voice as she spoke.

“God, Dad, stop being so problematic.” The awkward moment was diffused by the sarcastic comment of the Beck’s daughter, who looked to be around the same age as the cheerleader and her buffoon.

“I am going to put this in the fridge.” Helen took charge of the room once again. “Stan, please get the Lipskys a drink.” And with that she glided away.

“So, can I offer you folks an aperitif?”

~

After Negronis and charcuterie in the living room (in which Drew was proud of himself for not jumping out of his skin as Shego deliberately sat beside him on the sofa and for only looking once down her décolletage) the party convened in the dining room. True to form the lightly worded heavy questions did not appear until the second class for excellent Cabernet Sauvignon and most of the steak au poivre, broccoli and mashed potatoes were eaten.[9]

The question came from Honor Beck, who was, as Drakken suspected, barely eighteen.[10]

“Why are you blue?”

“Honor! You can’t just ask someone why they’re blue.”[11]“I am so sorry for our daughter’s lack of tact.”

The reactions of Helen and Stan Beck were almost more flustering and embarrassing than their daughter’s question. Especially since where her parents had been contented to just stare at him and Shego all night Honor actually just asked, straightforward and with naked curiosity but not judgement.

On the drive from Middleton to California they had rehearsed some of the basic answers to obvious questions to make sure their cover would be as effortless and easy to remember as possible. Global Justice had given them some information to remember and some faux details of their life to hide their true identities and past but most of what they had to come up with was a fiction of their own creation.

Shego touched his arm and gave him a supportive (rather than snide for once) nod (he’d have to mark this on the calendar).

Showtime.

He drained his wineglass and then placed his hand over Shego’s where it still rested on his forearm.

“It’s a fair question, though sadly not an exciting story. I was involved in a lab accident a number of years ago.” He gave Honor a crooked smile. “Sadly, mutations usually don’t give you super powers.”[12]

All eyes shifted to Shego. The deep jade of her crepe dress highlighting her alpine cheekbones and vert complexion.

“A radioactive comet destroyed my treehouse when I was twelve.”

Drew squeezed Sera’s hand as she spoke. The comet had done more than destroyed her treehouse. It had taken away both of her parents and any chance she might have had at being a normal child. Not only did it imbue her with superpowers and turned her green, it had also left her a ward of a city more interested in using her and her brothers as a super police force than letting them live and grow as people. Over the years she hadn’t shared much but it was enough for Drew to know that it was a miracle Seraphina Goh graduated high school with all the times she was forced to miss class to clean up a problem in Go City. She’d missed all the normal experiences of being a teenager – there were no sleepovers with friends for Sera, there was no prom date (there had been a bank robbery over her senior prom instead). And then, when she had wanted to explore avenues on her own she was forced to choose between her family and her freedom.[13]

“Woah. That’s like a superhero origin story.” Honor, who had been apathetic through dinner was now engaged with the conversation around her.

“It is. Have you ever heard of Team Go?” Drew felt himself startle at Shego’s words. He hadn’t expected her to mention Team Go – she barely acknowledged that aspect of her past with him, let along with strangers.

“Team Go?” Stan repeated. Drakken tore his eyes from his sidekick ( _partner_ ) [Sera!]. Their hosts both looked slightly ill.

“Yes, Team Go of Go City. I retired to go to college, my brothers still work with the GCPD.”

Honor had about seventy-five thousand follow up questions, ranging from “do you have any superpowers” to “where did you go to college”.

Helen stood abruptly, cutting off any answer of Honor’s inquiries.

“I need to take Muffin for her nighttime walkies, Sera, would you care to join me?”[14]

The meal was officially over.

“Drew,” Stan stood as well, “would you care for an after-dinner tipple while we await our lovely wives return?”

~

Stan Beck’s idea of a digestif was a generous serving of bourbon, neat. Thankfully he wasn’t a scotch man, the flashbacks of his father were already coming frequently enough without smelling that peaty aroma. Conversation between the two men was strained after Shego and Helen left with the Beck’s Papillion and Honor retreated to do the dishes with only minor teenage angst. They rather stiltedly talked about his “research” and inventions. Stan was a polite listener but hadn’t taken a science class since his sophomore year of college. He was an investment banker who also worked a lot with online trading. Drakken couldn’t exactly mention the fact that everything he knew of banks came from robbing them. It was the longest twenty minutes of Drakken’s life.

“So, uh, Mrs. Beck is an underwriter?”

“Sure is, she took some time off when our daughter was born, but when Honor got old enough to stay by herself for a time Helen went back to the firm.” To his credit Stan actually managed to sound excited about his wife working in insurance, which to Drakken’s mind might have been one of the most boring jobs on the planet.

“Are there many families in The Falls?” God, it had only been a few minutes and Drew was considering giving himself an icepick lobotomy.

“A fair few, most are fairly young – gives Honor a good source of income in babysitting. There’s a Mommys club if you and Sera have children, they get together once a week.”

“A mommys club?” Drew resolutely tried to distract himself from thinking too much about the idea of Shego bearing his child – which of course meant the image was seared into his brain from that moment on.

“Being a stay at home mother is quite isolating I’m told. Abbey Normal set it up. She and her husband, James live up on Fox Drive – they’ve got award winning rhododendrons in their front lawn.” Stan gestured vaguely east.

“Award winning, eh?” Drakken could feel the botany within him rising to the challenge, as if to say, _I’ll show you award winning flora_. But since the Becks still didn’t wholly seem comfortable with their colorful neighbors Drew resisted the urge of his inner garden.

“Oh yeah, gorgeous, Abbey’s a real green thumb.” The moment Beck said “green thumb” he looked like he wanted to slap his hand over his mouth like he had caused offense. For a beat both men were silent.

“So… tell me about our neighbors. Sera and I do want to do something to thank everyone for their help in moving us in so quickly.”

“Of course, we would help you move, it’s the neighborly thing to do really.” Stan winces as he spoke but Drakken isn’t sure why, other than it was so goddamn cheesy it hurt.

“Still Sera and I were touched.” Drew had used Shego’s given name more in the last two and a half hours than he had in the previous two and a half years. It was disquieting.

“Well, across the street are the Kings, Joe, Sofie, and their daughter Vi.” Stan pointed to 1012. “The Dovers are good friends of Helen’s – Ben and Eileen. They live over on Carter Circle. John and Libby Doe live on the other side of you, although they’re away visiting their daughter Jane in Sana Barbara, their son Roland just moved to Go City actually.” Drakken nodded distractedly. The plant mutation of his body had given him several benefits – the vines were useful appendages and super strong but there were also disadvantages – for one he needed more water than the average person. But he’d been drinking alcohol all evening. Constantly thirsty his body was metabolizing it quite quickly – making him a rather cheap drunk.

“Then on the street behind us there’s Jack Hoff, whom you met. Max and Minnie Mumm are also delightful people, they live a few doors down from Jack.”[15]

“Then, of course, you must meet Jim Bissell. He’s the president of the Homeowner’s association.” Stan took a discreet fortifying breath before continuing. “I know that your wife’s quite the ball fan but portable hoops, as well as over the garage hoops, are explicitly banned in the CC&R.”

“You mentioned that when we moved in.” Drew knew that he often overshared when he drank and so Drunk Drew was also slightly paranoid Drew. He did his best to watch his words carefully.

“Yeah, I’m sorry you moved yours all this way. While you can get an exception to certain CC&R rules from the Homeowner’s association I, um, wouldn’t recommend bringing this query to Mr. Bissell.”

“Oh?”

“Jim is a wonderful guy, a very nice man, but he, uh, is very particular about rules.” Stan punctuated his answer with a sharp nod.

“I see. And I’ll keep this in mind…” Drew sipped his Bourbon, enjoying the Kentucky hug even if it meant his flowers wilted.

Silence descended into the room and both men shifted awkwardly in their seats.

“So, what does everyone do? You mentioned that Jack Hoff travels for work. You work in banking, your wife in insurance…”

“James Normal is a lawyer, his wife homeschools their son-”

“And grows award winning flowers.” Stan chuckled.

“And grows award winning flowers. You interested in gardening too?”

“Let’s just say I have a very personal connection to botany.”

“Alright, ‘fraid there aren’t any botanists in the neighborhood. Max Mumm used to be a cardiologist – he’s retired. John Doe is one of the original programmers for Amazon. Ben Dover also works in Banking and Joe King is a real estate developer.” _Yep, no way my lower middle-class ass would have grown up here_. Drakken thought to himself as he listened to Stan rattle off the neighbors and their six figure jobs. _Hell, even now, an engineer and a school teacher is a little too quaint for this neighborhood unless I patented something earthshattering._ Drew refused to think about the failed experiments in AI and his Bebes.

“Ann Arky liked to garden.” Honor appeared from the kitchen, her cleaning chores complete. She carried a slice of the Raspberry Charlotte and a glass of water, clearly about to retreat to her room for dessert. Stan stiffened as his daughter spoke.

“Who?”

“Ann Arky, she lived in the house before you and Sera did. Her and her husband Mel. Ann liked to garden – or at least tried to. Her stuff kept dying though.” Honor shrugged. Drakken tried his best to appear casual but his insides surged. The Arkys were the disappearance he and Shego were sent to Suburban Hell to investigate.

“Really?”

“Yeah, never could figure out why. They always tipped really well when I mowed their lawn.”

“That was good of her.”

“When I got accepted to Michigan she bought me a sweatshirt – she went there too. We talked a lot about Ann Arbor. She was really nice.” Honor went to her room before he could ask more questions of her, her father reminding her that she better bring her dishes back out of her room before her mother found them molding there. Stan didn’t relax again until he heard the front door open and Helen’s voice drifting from the foyer.

~

“So how did you two meet?” After returning the women had joined the men in the living room for a slice of Drakken’s raspberry cake and some Austrian schnapps that Stan swore up and down was nothing like the stuff they drank underage back in the day. What surprised Drakken more than the fact Shego sat directly next to him on the sofa and curled into his side as they ate was the fact she asked such a banal question of their hosts. For never having lived in the suburbs she was a quick study of the dynamics at work. Stan, who had been tense since yesterday seemed to relax a little and he smiled at his wife.

“We were both born in the same hospital actually.” He began.

“Seven days apart.” Helen added. “In the same hospital.”

“We both grew up one block away from each other in San Francisco -”

“- I lived on Delancy Street, he lived on Fordham Road-”

“-I moved to Reiner California when I was ten, her parents moved to Reiner when she was eleven-”

“For six years he worked on the fifteenth floor, I worked on the fourteenth floor in the _very same_ building-”

“We never met.” Stan set aside his clean dessert plate and reached for Helen’s hand, which she took, giving it a little squeeze.

“Can you imagine that?” she laughed.

“You know where we met? In an elevator.” Stan laughed. “In the Ambassador Hotel in New York City.”

“I was visiting my brother and sister-in-law, he was attending a conference. He was on the third floor, I was on the twelfth.”

“I rode up nine extra floors just to keep talking to her.”

“Nine extra floors.”[16]The look the Becks shared was so sweet and pure Drew didn’t know if he wanted to cry or rage or go brush his teeth because it was so sweet. Beside him Shego shifted so firmly into his side that he had to wrap his arm around her shoulders or have it crushed between their bodies. Casually she took his and her dessert plates and sat them on the coffee table before returning to his side, making sure his arm still draped over her shoulder. She settled her left hand on his crossed leg, engagement ring winking up at them both.

It was the most intimate he’d ever been with her. It was the most intimate position he’d been in with a woman, period, in the last… many years.[17]A negroni, two glasses of wine, bourbon and a schnapps could not numb the tingle that spread through him at her touch. Nothing compared to feeling Shego’s slight body against his. He could smell her perfume, her shampoo. Every fiber of his being was reacting to her. He only prayed he would neither pop a boner nor a flower.

“Sera, how did you meet Drew?”

“In college.” Shego began. She had had less to drink than he, and had a higher tolerance for it, not that anyone would know from the goofy grin she gave him, tipping her head up from where it had rested on his shoulder.

“Well, I was in college,” her eyes sparkled at him, “Doctor D was actually my TA junior year.”

They had discussed this in the car as well – every couple, even fake ones (especially fake ones) needed a story. GJ and the FBI had also given him fake credentials as a Doctor of Philosophy in Physics when they crafted his and Shego’s deep background. It also provided a good cover story for how they might have met and explained the age difference.[18]Shego turned from smiling wickedly at him to addressing the Becks.

“Physics for non-majors. I hated that class with the fiery passion of a thousand suns. Oh my god, it used to make me so mad and confused I would cry.[19]The only bright spot in that entire experience was that I had the sweetest, most adorkable person on the planet as my TA.” She gave his knee a squeeze, the Tiffany diamond sparkled, and Drew felt like he was having an out of body experience.

“My crush was well fed because I legitimately needed to be in his office every week for homework help. He wasn’t always the most patient-” They both laughed. There was fiction and then there was _fiction_ and Drew “Dr. Drakken” Lipsky has nor ever will be a patient man. “but he was passionate. You know people are five hundred times more attractive when they talk about the things they love. I fell in love with him and wanted to die every week.”

“I had no idea she was interested in anything except my homework help until the next semester when she showed up to my office hours without any physics homework to do.” He was amazed at his ability to focus on contributing to the story. Oh, that Shego’s words were true! He was blown away by the tale she told. So, in awe of her storytelling was he that he didn’t even feel the sting of the fact it was all a fabrication.

The tension that had gripped the Becks further loosened as they listened attentively as Shego lied through her teeth.

“Your utter ignorance of your own charm was endearing up until it was exasperating.” She told him before shooting Helen a conspiratorial smile. “He didn’t pick up what I was putting down until I hit him over the head with two tickets to the Carrie Nations and an explicit date invitation.”[20]The group laughed at the quite believable level of ineptitude of “single” Drew Lipsky, Physics TA.

“Sera, _Mon rayon de soleil_ , it still seems inconceivable that a much younger, witty, gorgeous, sparkly, former student of mine would find me anything other than a bore or worse, a creepy older man if I admitted to myself how attractive I found you.”[21]He spoke in character, but he also spoke the truth. Shego was nigh fifteen years younger than he, stunningly attractive, too cool for words, and his (until recently) sidekick. He had denied his feelings for so long because he refused to put such unwelcomed attentions on her, and because he knew he had a snowball’s chance in hell of being anything more than her boss. He’d rather be her employer than “creepy old man”.

Shego looked up at him and there was something unnamable in her eyes that took his breath away.

“Good thing I disabused you of such a blatant falsehood and self-deprecation, huh, _mon ciel étoilé_?”[22]  Her endearment made his head and his heart ache.

~

They didn’t linger much after their schnapps. Walking back to 1013 Anderson Drakken leaned heavily on Shego, his arm looped over her shoulders with hers around his back. He had more than he intended to drink.

“Typical.” Shego muttered from under his arm as they walked up their driveway. “I have to carry your ass home in addition to carrying the conversation andthe investigation. Did you do anything tonight?”

“Unfair Shego.” He was too inebriated to catch the subtle lack of bite in her voice as she spoke, the fact she was annoyed but not truly mad at him, that her anger was blunted from what it had been in the past.

“I made an excellent dessert, first and foremost, and I found out about our neighbors-”

“Big whoop.” Shego interrupted, unlocking their front door.

“and the Arkys.” Drew stumbled inside triumphantly. Shego closed and locked the door after him.

“Alright Hercule Poirot, tell me everything you learned over a large glass of water.”[23]

Shego made him drink two full glasses of water as he spoke, leaning against the counter. The mutation made him extremely susceptible to dehydration. Like a plan he needed regular watering.

“Well, while you were getting drunk and confirming information we already knew-” Shego shot him a look, “I found a clue.”

“Oh?” Drakken yawned, it was only ten o’clock but the alcohol in his system made him drowsy.

“Yeah, the yappy little mop of theirs got itself stuck in a storm drain and Helen had seen IT one too many times and refused to get the dog out. When I got the mutt free I saw in the drain a caduceus necklace.” She said it like the information should mean something to him.

“So you think Pennywise killed the Arkys?”[24]Now that he was home, his guard down, his smile unscrewed, and hydrated Drakken felt exhausted. Pretending to be Drew Lipsky was even more awkweird and draining than actually being Drew Lipsky. And being Drew Lipsky had driven him mad.

“We’re not in Maine and you’re missing the point.” Her tone was frustrated. Shego crossed her arms (he would not think about what that did to her neckline). However, her annoyance visibly faded as she noticed how tired he was.

“Jack Hoff wore a caduceus necklace, he was a veterinarian. I noticed it when I first met him. I think it’s his necklace in that drain.” Drakken had closed his eyes for what was supposed to be a moment. It took a while for him to open them again. He did when he felt Shego’s hand on his own.

“I was going to make you go and get the necklace but you’re too drunk to be stealthy.” She tugged gently on his hand, pulling him away from the counter and to the bedroom (he wasn’t ready to call it theirs). “Come on, Doc, let’s get you to bed.”

“What about the clue?”

“I’ll change and go get it later.” She could have sounded angry about the task, instead she gently encouraged him to sit on the bed while she gathered some dark clothing for her mission.

“You so owe me breakfast in the morning.” She told him, handing over his pajamas.

“Sera,” The use of her given name stopped Shego in her tracks as she made to leave the bedroom and let him change. “You were wonderful tonight.”

Slowly the beautiful woman nodded, her features soft.

“Go to bed Doctor D.”

* * *

 

[2] In addition to "Wonderful Tonight", I recommend both the original and the acoustic versions of “Layla”. I basically listened to all three of these songs on loop while writing this.

[3] Etta Jones, “Til There Was You”, a great jazz song originally from the musical, _The Music Man_. You're experiencing/being subjected to more of my eclectic music decisions.

[4] Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Tony Bennett, among many excellent jazz performers.

[5]  _Quando, Quando, Quando_ is a bossa nova Italian pop song from the 1960s. It has been covered by many different people including Connie Francis, Engelbert Humperdinck, as well as a duet between Michael Bublé and Nelly Furtado.

[6] The classic Charlotte Russe, a grand dessert consisting of a Bavarian cream encased in sponge cake. It was popular a generation or two ago as a show stopping dessert but has since fallen out of favor – in part because of how fussy it is to make and mostly because if it’s not done right it’s a mass of gelatinized mousse on lean sponge cake. Cooks Illustrated has an excellent updated version of the recipe – packing in a full pound of berries for bright fruit flavor and finishing with a swirl of raspberry jam and fresh berries gives the charlotte visual appeal and an extra jolt of flavor. I’m a big cooking/baking/entertaining nerd (#imdeeplyawkwardandliketocook is legit my hashtag) so I can’t help myself when it comes to describing food.

[7] INCONCEIVABLE

[8] The last line from the 1970s film Chinatown with Jack Nicholson, Faye Dunnaway, and Joe Mantell. Originally “Forget it, Jake. It’s Chinatown.”

[9] I legit spent as much time looking up the perfect dinner menu for this fictional party as I did in outlining this entire chapter and revising my early draft of it. Like I said, I’m deeply awkward and like to cook.

[10] So, there’s Stan Beck, Helen Beck, and Honor Beck. I amused myself greatly in choosing these names, if you’re not sure why, say them out loud rather quickly.

[11] Oh my God, Karen. (Mean Girls reference FTW)

[12] I’m picturing an accident much like what happened to Doctor Manhattan in Watchman, except Drew Lipsky only got the blue part, but none of the cancer dick, ability to manipulate space and time, or nihilism.

[13] I am taking serious liberties with Shego and Team Go’s origins, however as I don’t think there is much in the cannon regarding Team Go I don’t feel particularly bad for my interpretation. Do let me know if I have missed any cannon clues, however.

[14] Muffin is a Papillion that the Becks have kennel trained so they can enjoy all of the doggie affection without her causing disorder.

[15] It’s actually sort of hard to come up with punny names where you can make like everyone in a family fit the joke. But I’ve found a few: Joe King, Sofie King and Vi King; Ben Dover and Eileen Dover; John Doe, Libby Doe, Jane Doe, Roland Doe; finally, Max E. Mumm and Minnie Mumm. 

[16] This story is taken from interviews with real couples used in the movie When Harry Met Sally, some changes were made, obviously. Rob Reiner, the director, says he got the idea of using real couple stories of their first meeting in the movie after defusing an awkward conversation with another man by asking about how the man and his wife met. The guy went from grumpy to love struck in seconds. So, life lesson, when in doubt, ask about people’s spouses. Also, I have no idea about San Francisco geography unless it was mentioned in _Tales from the City_ so the street names are not referencing any actual geography.

[17] I’m team Drakken is not a virgin, though willing to concede it has to have been SEVERAL years since he got his freak on (like maybe during the Clinton Administration?). Being a supervillain is not particularly conducive to dating. And don’t give me the whole he was too nerdy to pull before he became evil. I know James Possible cracked wise about his single status, but I firmly believe that brainy is the new sexy and that Drew Lipsky did get laid.

[18] I met my partner in graduate school, he was a post-doc while I was a PhD student, and he was even a co-instructor for one of my seminars. We started dating a YEAR after he was my teacher but that didn’t stop me having a crush on him while he was the instructor of record. He’s also twelve years older than I am and I will fight anyone who talks shit. The year between him teaching me and our first date was spent largely trying to dissuade him of the idea he was too old for me or that it was in anyway unethical for him to buy me a drink. I am happy to say I was successful. Now we’re engaged.

[19] Same, Shego, same.

[20] The Carrie Nations are the fictional band in the 1970s film, _Beyond the Valley of the Dolls_. The name of the band is taken from Prohibition activist Carrie A. Nation who made a reputation for herself by going into different bars and Saloons, starting in Kiowa, KS, and smashing the places up with a hatchet. When she was arrested for defacing property she once quipped, “I am defacing nothing, I am destroying.” Anyway, Carrie Nation, badass. The Carrie Nations, also badass but in a different way. They have a song, [“Look up from the Bottom”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qWCt9rrXlus) which you can hear on youtube. _Beyond the Valley of the Dolls,_ which follows the exploits of this all girl power trio, was described by one of its creators, Russ Meyers, as simultaneously a satire, a serious melodrama, a rock musical, and a comedy, as well as a violent exploitation picture, a skin flick and a moralistic expose (so soon after the Sharon Tate murders) of what the opening crawl called 'the oft-times nightmarish world of Show Business.’ I picked this band for Sera and Drew’s fictional first date because I imagine Shego and Drakken getting down with some 70s R&B Soul also because I really can see both of them drunkenly scream singing “look on up, look on up at the bottom”. I think I mentioned that I have a strange taste in music and enjoy imposing it on fictional characters, yeah?

[21] _Mon rayon de soleil_ , French = My Ray of Sunshine.

[22] _Mon ciel étoilé_ , French = My Starry Night.

[23] Hercule Poirot, one of Agatha Christie’s most famous detectives. A Belgium private detective he not only uses his police training but also powerful observation and logic skills to solve mysteries. Masterpiece Mysteries made a long running mini-series from his books, it’s available on Netflix. You should check it out.

[24] Pennywise, the Clown is one of the many forms It takes in the Stephen King novel IT. The story is set, like many others by King in Maine. The book was made into a mini-series in the 1990s with Tim Curry playing the Clown, it is currently being made into a series of films, the first came out in the summer of 2017. Check them out, you’ll float.


	8. With a Rebel Yell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shock! Gasp! I've updated something!  
> This chapter is brought to you by Billy Idol as well as the Live Action Kim Possible Movie which got my Drakgo mojo going again, plus a conversation with sweet-or-sarcastic over on tumblr. [My tumblr is also tirvialqueen, come say hi, I like it when people say hi! also, the more I chat about fandoms and get a chance to bounce ideas around the more i get inspired to work on certain pieces]. 
> 
> I feel like this chapter takes me even further out onto a limb as far as characterization and plausibility. Please suspend your disbelief as best you can, but if you really can't let me know in the comments! 
> 
> See the end of the chapter for further notes.

**Disclaimer:** It’s impossible that I own Kim Possible. #sorry #hadto.   
Kim Possible (© Disney), X-Files (© Chris Carter, et al.).

* * *

 

Chapter Eight: With a Rebel Yell[1]

Drew had fallen asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow that night. Unfortunately, he hadn’t stayed asleep. Between the slight buzz throwing off his sleep cycle, his thirsty plant biology, and his over forty bladder Drakken found himself seeing midnight, two and four am before he actually fell into REM.

He woke up at midnight when Shego joined him in bed. Although she moved silently through the room like the master thief she was he wasn’t in a deep enough sleep to not notice the dip of the mattress and shift of the sheets as she climbed into “her side”.

“Did you retrieve the clue?” He asked with a yawn, rolling over to look at her. She hadn’t bothered to turn on a light, so she was not but a silhouette against the very dim light of the closed window. He’d not quite seen what she wore to bed, having done his best to keep his back to her and offer privacy last night. He knew it was grey and presumably satiny, given the robe she wore. There was no light for details in the room, but her outline showed a silky cut and a thick braid. The figure-hugging appearance and the intimacy of the other side of the bed crashed into him like high tided.

“I did. Go back to sleep.” Her answer was short but not without warmth. She laid down and drew the covers up around herself, demonstrating her suggestion.

“Good night.” A second wave crashed into him and it was all that he could to keep from taking her in his arms and drawing her head to pillow on his breast. His fingers itched to play with her hair and his chest ached to feel her slight weight once again. If this was real, if she was his wife in truth, he would hold her thusly. Every night before they fell asleep, he’d indulge his cravings for contact and peace. Five minutes of nothing in the world but him, her, and the duvet.

But she was not his wife.

At two am Drakken awoke again, parched as the Sahara. He’d downed three glasses of water in rapid succession and brought a fourth with him for beside the bed. Shego lay on her stomach, face buried in her pillow, only the top of her head peeking out from the blankets. She’d stolen most of the covers when he wasn’t there to defend his position. Sighing he tried to steal back his share of the red comforter.

Unfortunately, Shego’s superior strength was a part of her, conscious and un. He barely succeeded in gaining a corner. A second attempt got him enough of the cover that if he laid in the middle of the bed, back to back with her he could have some warmth. Given her faint snoring Drakken decided to risk the breach of boundaries.

When Drew woke the third time it was from a dream which evaporated like steam, leaving him limp and loose and utterly out of focus. Slowly he began to piece together his reality. It was a slightly lighter shade of dark outside, he was bundled in the covers feeling more contented than he ever had in his life…and feeling more of Shego than he ever had in his life. The bottom dropped out of his stomach as he realized his hands weren’t tangled in the sheets but between satin and flesh. At least one hand was cupping Shego’s breast, he could feel her nipple between his fingers.

While it had taken his brain a minute to figure out what was going on, another head of his was well aware. Hot and hard he could feel his erection straining against his briefs and against Shego’s glorious behind. His reptilian hind brain was already waking, rocking his hips slightly against her warm softness.

Mortified he leapt from bed, heart pounding.

Mercifully Shego rolled over but didn’t wake.

Drew shut himself in the bathroom, his chest still heaving after the close call.

“Nygh.” He groaned burying his hands in his hair. This assignment was going to be the death of him - he was either going to drown in a sea of unrequited love and insecurity or be murdered for rubbing on his partner like a dog who’d not been neutered.

“Down boy.” Drakken glared at the jutting tent of his pants. His erection had not gotten the memo that it needed to knock it off if it didn’t want him to end up like Peter Abelard.[1]

Drew sat on the edge of the tub and tried to clear his mind. He recited the periodic table, first by atomic weight and then alphabetically until his erection subsided and he felt relaxed enough to go to sleep. It would do him no good to reflect on how Shego felt in his arms or how he felt crawling into bed beside her. After their dinner at the Becks’ and how his heart had been strangely warmed both times those lines of thought would doom him.

Drakken laid back down at four fifteen am and did not wake again until it was close to eight.

Shego awoke around seven, her own internal clock set reasonably early, even when falling asleep late. Mercifully she awoke this morning she was not groping her bedpartner. Drakken was fast asleep on his side of the bed, only partially covered by the duvet.

Guiltily Shego retuned the covers she had stolen, leaning slightly over him to ensure proper tucking in. he looked younger when he slept. Hs face smooth and relaxed. No worry lines or fishers of thoughts, just even blue skin and the hint of a beard across his strong jaw line.

Shego got out of bed quickly and dressed for a run before she did something impulsive and foolish – like kiss him. When she had come to bed after retrieving the necklace she could have sworn the big blue dork had rolled over and reached for her. She was bereft that he had not.

_Get a grip Sera._ She scolded herself. Was it really necessary to go entirely soft and cuddly just because she realized she as in love with her (former) boss? Bedtime cuddles, who was she?

Yet it had felt so good last night, leaning against his sturdy frame at the Becks’. She had initiated the cuddle because she wanted to appear natural and authentic and because she was _trying_ with this whole relationship thing and maybe being the one to initiate contact would go better than her surprised jolt at his every touch. Drew had relaxed against her quickly last night and Shego almost felt like purring with contentment. He had been warm and solid and smelled like home.

Home. Sera had been so caught up with her feelings for her dorky, blue (former) boss she had completed her six-mile run without seeing any of the neighborhood. Half the point of the run was surveillance. But no, she had been distracted by his arms.

For a brief moment when she had gone to bed last night, she’d thought he would reach out to her. He hadn’t, and she thought she might die of disappointment. On the other hand, she knew that if he had she would have died then too. Trying sucked.

Rounding the corner toward 1013 Anderson Sera found that once again the garage door, which she had left up, was now down. Thankfully she’d also unlocked the front door, in case of this very event. No need to wake Drakken this time.

However, her concern was for not as she found him making breakfast in the kitchen. His hair was damp still from the shower and he’d changed from his pajamas into a pair of dark jeans and a navy-blue Henley long sleeve. She could still see the way the shirt clung to his chest, despite the grey apron he’d donned to cook. Damn the man. He was sexy as hell in the morning light and he could cook.

“Ah! Shego,” He greeted, steaming cup of coffee half to his lips. “I was just about to make breakfast. How does _oeufs in cocottes_ with _moiullettes_ sound?”[2]For a moment she could only stare at him. Not only did he look good enough to eat but his idea for breakfast sounded delicious.

Also, what the hell was he doing up so early after being drunk the night before? The plant powers meant he was stronger, healed faster, his hair grew like a weed, and he had semi-conscious vine appendages, but it also meant he had to take care of himself more – hydration and rest and so on. She had assumed he’d sleep for another hour, at least, after she’d got back. She was rather counting on it.

“Why are you up?” Gah. Not what she should have asked.

“Going to bed early generally correlates to getting up early. Also, I believe I promised you breakfast.” He hadn’t. She had demanded breakfast of him.

“You remembered that?” He sighed heavily.

“Shego, I was not so drunk last night that I forgot anything. I was just buzzed and sleepy.” He crossed his arms over his chest – his broad, strong, warm chest. She could feel herself licking her lips.

“In that case, breakfast sounds great. I’m showering first though.”

“Please do, you smell.” The way he said it was so warm and affectionate that she couldn’t even be mad at his teasing. _God Sera, three days in and you’ve gone soft._ And then another voice in her head countered, _when it comes to Dr. D you’ve been soft for a while._

Not knowing what exactly to do in response in light of her “softness” Sera simply stuck her tongue out at the mad scientist. It caused him to burst into serious, surprisingly sane sounding laughter. Nothing like his practiced ‘bwahahahaha’.

“I’ll give you a head start. The eggs will take about twenty minutes.”

~

After a delicious breakfast of soft baked eggs with prosciutto piccante and arugula, toast and coffee as well as a slice of companionable quiet, they went their separate ways. Drakken retired to his “office”, the upstairs room with his futon and drafting table as well as all their crime scene gear, now unused. Shego curled up on the sofa, Global Justice – FBI file in hand. It was going on their third day in the Falls of Arcadia, as much as sharing a house did for sorting out, messing up, and generally overwhelming her feelings for her former super villain boss, they were in California for a reason.

Drew sat at his drafting table immersed in his most recent project – meal planning for the week. After the Becks’ dinner invitation, he’d run to the store to buy ingredients, as well as a few items for lunch but nothing substantial. The case didn’t seem to be solving itself anytime soon, so they would need to eat real food at some point. Meal planning was also relaxing for the evil genius as it gave him the illusion of control. Considering the general uproar his life and emotions were in, any semblance of control and order was welcomed.

The entire mission was flustering him – pretending like he was married to Shego, living in the Suburbs again. Last night and that morning had only made it worse. So much worse. Despite trying to wash her out of his hair the feel of her breasts, her body, her touch was seared onto his senses. Additionally, she’d been so warm and affectionate at the Becks’. Yes, she was telling them a fictional story, but it had felt so real. Her words and her actions – it was almost enough for him to believe that she cared for him. That she cared for him _like that_.

A brave man would act on his feelings and in response to what he thought her cues were – that she was interested, that she cared. But Drew Lipsky was not a particularly brave man. He’d dropped out of college rather than face the laughter of his peers. And yet he _had_ saved the Earth. He’d lied to an alien and then defeated her and her technology when she’d tried to invade. He’d been terrified but he’d done it. Maybe he could do this…or at least _try_ to.

He looked at his meal planning for the week. Perhaps the stomach was the way to a woman’s heart as well.

~

“Hey, Dr. D.” Shego gave him a start. After deciding to pursue a romantic relationship with his sidekick turned partner, and that he was going to make penne arribatta with a side of peas for dinner that night the inventor had turned his mind to mechanical not romantic problems.[3]

“Shego.” He turned. After six years of working with her constantly he was accustomed to her black and green jumpsuit. To see her out of it was just bizarre. Thankfully the more things changed the more they stayed the same. The thief invaded his space, plopping down on the futon, complained about it, and then – eventually – finally – returned to her original point.

“I’ve been reading the file on this place,” she began, “I don’t think it’s alien abduction.”

“And… you didn’t think it was aliens before, Shego. Though let me remind you that they do exist.” He sat aside his pencil and turned his chair in her direction just in time to see her roll her lovely eyes. Aside from being unnaturally green, like the rest of her, they were large and almond shaped, framed by dark lashes that she made longer and darker with mascara. Her figure was of course outstanding, but it was her eyes he’d rank as her most remarkable feature – and contrary to popular belief – what he’d noticed first upon meeting her.

“Doy, went three rounds with one personally.” She gave him an unamused look.

“What I mean is these disappearances don’t make sense as abductions. One, there’s no trace of the people left – they just stop showing up to work. The house goes on the market empty, their cars are never found. What alien takes people and all their shit? Why do people still live here if you’ll just get whole sale abducted? Two, in what accounts we do have of our missing people there’s abundant mention of the CC&R, are aliens only abducting people with grass taller than an inch? If so a) extraterrestrial life is very pedantic, b) it’d be neighborly to warn people that plastic lawn kitsch gets you abducted and c) again, why would people live here with such an abduction rate?”

“It sounds mainly like you don’t know why people live here.”

“That too, but also seriously Dr. D, there’s something going on here that’s more than space invaders.”

“What if people don’t know? You’re basing this argument on assuming people know something is going on – that an obscene number of people have gone missing and they’re just not telling us, etc. What if people haven’t realized the abduction rate?” Shego gave him a very skeptical look.

“I lived with four brothers in the middle of Go City in a police-controlled tower and I don’t think I lived in anyone’s pocket as much as people do here.”

“Alright, so if it’s not aliens who or what is it and what do you propose we do?”

~

_The Brief Wondrous Life Of Oscar Wao_ was on the short list for the Pulitzer. It was supposed to be really good, not that Shego would know. She’d bought the book at the start of the mission and so far she’d gotten about two and a half chapters in. Every time she sat down to try and read something had distracted her.

That damn M.I.S.T. shirt.[4]

After a morning spent up in his “office” Drakken had announced that he planned on doing some landscaping. He’d taken Ann Arky’s apparent inability to get anything to grow in the yard as a personal challenge. He’d disappeared for over an hour, and when he’d returned the car had been loaded down with all sorts of lush and colorful plants. He’d then changed out of his Henley and into a tee shirt to wear while digging in the dirt.

That damn M.I.S.T. shirt.

He’d clearly bought it when he’d been accepted into the university because it was now looking more than a little worse for wear. Years and years of washing had made it onion skin thin and so incredibly pale that his blue skin stood out underneath the fabric. It was also now by far too tight for him. And that was a problem. The shirt was now see-through with sweat, she could see his muscles contract as he wrestled a purple Butterfly bush into the hole he’d dug for it in the front lawn. Shego had lowered the book to watch him with the intention of making sure he didn’t need help in dealing with some of the larger, more awkward plants he’d bought. She’d been unable to look away ever since. Her eyes traced over his broad shoulders and down his back to his narrow waist as he began filling in soil around the newly positioned bush. She could see each muscle flex as he moved thanks to that damn M.I.S.T. shirt. He could have been topless for all the modesty the tee provided. Drakken was a far cry from the muscle-bound hunks she’d picked up at the gym or who flocked to the same beaches and bars she frequented on vacation, but he’d always been a solidly male figure. A bit soft, yes, and always more brain than brawn but hardly some twig she could snap across her knee. Which she’d appreciated, the rainbow comet had given her the strength of at least ten men and the athletic physique to match it. She was far from self-conscious about her figure, but she did have some concerns about literally breaking a partner in half if they couldn’t match her. Part of why she’d dated jocks in the past, their conversation was rarely stellar, but she could take them to bed with the confidence that if she slipped in her control and used even a fraction of her true strength they wouldn’t break.

Before the whole pollinator problem Drew had been solid but not strong, but now… now he was a match for her strength quite literally. The plants had also altered his physique as well, not a lot – he was still Dr. D – but enough that he was also something _more_.[5] Shego reached for her glass of water, hoping it could wash away some of the thoughts she was having. It was just Drakken doing physical labor, she should be marking it on the calendar as a rare day rather than getting aroused. It was amazing what admitting to one’s self one’s own feelings did to the libido.

Butterfly bush tucked into the earth he stood, using the hem of his shirt to wipe the dirt and sweat off of his face. Shego could see the flat expanse of his stomach and the trail of dark hair that extended from his navel down below the fly of his jeans. The water did nothing to sooth her problem, just like his shirt did little to actually address the dust on his face, if anything he came away with more dirt on him than before. Even now, with black soil streaking down from his hair line and clinging to his throat, he was distracting.

He was Drakken.

Even if all she wanted to do in that moment was grab him and drag him to bed for some hot Gardner-and-lady-of-the-house role play sex, she knew that it would break him. Or he’d run a mile and that would break her. She was trying, yes, but somethings were still a bridge too far. So she sighed and tried to return to her book.

_Was the sudden interest in gardening because now plants were basically his kin?_ He was partially plant now. The vines and flowers were embedded deep in his nervous system as far as the GJ scientists and doctors could tell, which was how they explained both their semi-conscious state but also the seemingly random *Bloop* of flowers. They could react to his thoughts but also his unintended bursts of emotion. He also needed to drink twice as much water as a normal person or he quite literally wilted. Perhaps Ann Arky’s perpetually brown thumb was offensive to him on a personal level now. She’d never heard him express any interest in gardening – or even the outdoors more generally – prior to his mutation. But then he’d always had work to do, evil plans to plan. And it wasn’t like the lairs had had space for a garden, on top of the fact they tended to get destroyed after like two months. She’d given up even trying to decorate half of them since it was never worth the effort and she kept losing stuff she’d liked.[6]

On the other hand, gardening was peak home and Drew had always been more domestic than dastardly, even when he was a supervillain. He still decorated every lair they moved into like they were going to have a chance to stay and put down roots (no pun intended). He baked the best cupcakes she’d ever eaten in her life. He liked his creature comforts and he unironically used words like ‘cozy’. He had wanted a home even when he also wanted the worlds on its knees. Perhaps this puttering in the yard was the first time he’d been able to embrace all the possibilities of a home of his own before. He was, after all, from the suburbs.

Shego’d lived in the suburbs. Briefly. Every year her mother spent the entirety of April, May, and June in their backyard, clad in linen dungarees and an oversized straw hat, gloves, which had once been blue, permanently stained brown, digging in the ground. She planted vegetables and she planted flowers – lavender under the windows, morning glories cascading down the trellis on the deck in a waterfall of blue and indigo and white. Hydrangeas rimed the old oak tree that held their little hideaway.[7] 

Go Tower didn’t have flowers. It didn’t have an actual lawn. There was the training area but that hardly counted as a yard. Everything was designed to ensure either peak physical performance or optimum surveillance and security. There was nothing there just for the sake of beauty, or for emotional comfort (or, hell, physical comfort in some cases). The lairs had been more comfortable – thanks to Drakken. Sometimes they’d been in the jungle or other places with gorgeous scenery and wild life but other times they’d been in a half earthen mound in the middle of the prairies in Montana. Once they’d lived in Antarctica. Even though it had been technically spring there it’d been nothing but cold and bleak.

Now. Now she was in a home with hollyhocks and larkspur. Drew was planting a yard lush with color and it felt like home.

~

Drew carefully arranged the pink plastic flamingo in the front garden. Shego had suggested breaking some of the CC&R rules and seeing what happened. She was convinced there was a terrestrial explanation for the disappearances. He, however, wasn’t certain that a serial killer made much more sense than aliens – did the killer hide all the victims’ personal property and put the house up for sale? Jack the Relator?[8]How was that less conspicuous than aliens? If the community knew there was a killer loose how come no one said anything?

But Shego’s general suggestion of breaking a few rules was a good one. As a villain Drakken wouldn’t be able to live with the irony if he didn’t violate a few norms. After a morning’s inventing he’d turned to trying to revitalize the front garden. Ann Arky’s brown thumb had left quite a mess but a few trips to the gardening center had given him some hope. Flowers bloomed around the porch and the pink flamingo complimented the colors nicely with a touch of whimsy. The house finally felt like it had some character.

Drew had barely dressed after his shower when Shego stuck her head into the bedroom,

“Didn’t you put a flamingo in our yard?” the question threw him off and he didn’t even ruminate on her choice of “our” instead of “the”. His hair still wet and out of its confines he joined her at the front window. Outside she was right, the flowers were lovely, but the kitsch was missing.

“Some gated community this is.” Fifteen minutes and someone has stolen his flamingo!

**~**

“Do you want to run errands with me?” It was a stupid question to ask and he regretted it almost as soon as he left his lips. Shego didn’t run errands, at least not legal ones. She stole classified documents and secret energy sources, she did not go to the grocery store. It was living in the damn suburbs. It wasn’t even necessary to have two people go to the grocery store and run by the gardening center to buy more pink flamingos. But there was something about the burbs that made it imperative that they do everything together. There was a reason he’d gotten out of this special ring of hell in the first place. Shego looked up over the edge of her book.

“If my options are run errands with you and medieval rat torture than yes.”[9]

“And if that wasn’t an option?”

“You mean if I was like choosing between errands and the Thunderdome? Cuz then I’d take my chances in the thunderdome.”

“Can’t we just get beyond thunderdome?”[10] She stared at him and blinked once. Twice. And then Shego started to giggle. The giggle turned into a guffaw and soon her dark head was thrown back in the most uproarious laughter he’d heard from her …ever.  In all honestly Drakken found himself too confused to laugh himself or even feel smug. The joke was good, but he didn’t think it was _that_ funny. A few seconds later Shego caught her breath and dried her eyes with the heel of her hand.

“Alright, I’ll go with you.”

“What?”

“On the errands. I’ve not gotten out of the house since my run.” She shrugged and her long black plat fell off her shoulder and down her back. His villainess had made some concessions to going undercover, in addition to ditching the cat suit and letting people use her legal name, such as forgoing her usual dark and dramatic makeup. It was odd to see her without the black lipstick, and yet, despite her lips being a more natural color (for someone who’s natural color was green) he still found his eyes drawn there. She was smiling.

“Oh. Alright. I’ll grab my list and we’ll go?”

“If you say so, Dr. D.”

~

“What the shit is this?” Drakken hummed to himself as he collected a cart from the rack. He looked over at the paper clutched in Shego’s hand.

“Grocery list.”

“No, no way, this thing is more complicated than Ikea directions.”  

“Ok, that is an exaggeration.”

“Is it though? You’ve drawn a chart. A chart!”[11] She pointed to the top of the page where he’d laid out and planned the week’s meals – Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. “And there are one, two, three, four…eight! There are eight subcategory columns.”

“It’s called meal planning, Shego. How else am I supposed to know what to get at the store?”

“You didn’t used to do this. When we were living in the lairs, I don’t remember you ever being this ridiculous with the grocery list.”

“How would you know, you never went with me to the store.” He grumbled, pushing the cart into the store, automatic doors whooshing around them both.

“Doc, I’ve been adding necessary items onto the grocery list for the last five years and they’ve been normal – Milk, toilet paper, cesium 137, bread, eggs – that sort of thing. This is a weird other level.”

“Well, trying to take over the world does require most of one’s attention. I didn’t have the time nor the energy to cook back then, but now I do. So, what do we need from produce?”

~

“Drew? Sera?” Shego whipped around to find Abigail Normal behind them, cart half full of groceries. The blonde was in another pastel twin set, petal pink this time. Shego had bought her own white cardigan and shell as an ironic joke after Betty Director told them in no uncertain terms that catsuits and lab coats were not allowed on the mission. She’d made a snide comment about needing to look like respectable homeowners. Shego’d only put the cardigan on over the white sleeveless blouse after she’d dripped coffee on herself that afternoon.

“Abigail, how are you?” Drew collected the variety of cheeses from the lady behind the counter (Pecorino Romano? Ricotta Salata? Quite literally what the hell was he cooking up?).

“Lovely, lovely. Are you all settled in?” Shego realized that Abigail’s ability to keep a straight face was only accomplished because her judgmental expression could cover any shock or surprise. Her pale eyes swept over her cardigan and her shorts and her manicure and down Drew’s dark ponytail, tight Henley, to the grocery list in his hand.

“Absolutely, the last box has been unpacked and the last picture hung.” ‘Suburban Shego’ was still as unsettling as ever. It was like the uncanny valley in a way, she looked so much like the woman he knew ( ~~and loved~~ ) and yet when she opened her mouth and _that_ came out his mind rebelled.[12] It was made even worse by the fact she was also wearing a twinset and pearls. Admittedly the pearls were black studs in her ears, but the cardigan and shell were white. He’d never been so thankful to be elbowed in the side as he was after that display, however, even though her elbows were sharp and painful it was a sign that the real Shego was still with him.

“And I’ve started landscaping, so the house is really starting to feel like a home.”

“Oh, you’re a gardener!” There was almost a happy smile breaking through her carefully neutral mask.

“Absolutely, I’ve developed a real kinship with plants in the last year.” Drew’s arm slid around Sera’s waist much the same way his vines had wrapped around her at the UN ceremony. She could tell by the tone of his voice he was having way too much fun with that sentence. It made her want to elbow him again. Instead she rolled her eyes.

“Lovely! I’m the president of the California chapter of the American Rhododendron Society myself.”[13]

“Yes, I’m told they’re award winning.” Abigail’s fair complexion flushed slightly and there was a distinct purr to Drakken’s voice. He was flirting! He wasn’t supposed to flirt! For one they were fake married! Moreover, he was a dork. Wariness spiked through Sera very much against her will. It had been different when he’d tried to date DNAmy. She was, after all, a grown woman obsessed with cuddle buddies and animals, and in Shego’s pettiest opinion, not half as attractive as she was. But Abigail was… blonde.

“You’re too kind.” Abigail demurred with false modesty. “We should really exchange seeds sometime.” _Jesus Christ and a windmill full of corpses!_

“Well! We really must be getting on with our list, don’t we _Mon Vilain_?”[14] Drakken was not good at reading people in general, let alone identifying flirting, but even he could pick up on that blatant of a come on. Shego’s pointed voice cut through the ringing in his ears however, he could feel the tension in her words.

“Absolutely, if we’re going to avoid take out again tonight, we have our work cut out for us.” Shego tensed as he slipped an arm around her waist and then relaxed against him.

“Oh, what are you making tonight?” Abigail looked at Shego for the first time since greeting them. Sera found herself torn between lying and telling the truth. Usually it didn’t bother her that Drakken was the better cook than her but admitting that to Clair Wellington felt like toothpicks under her nails.[15]

“I’m torn between making pasta or grilling.”

“Grilling?” From the look of horror on the woman’s face one would think Drew had announced that he’d be butchering a cow in the driveway.

“Of course! It’s summer now and we’re finally in a house instead of a lai-apartment. I’m looking forward to spending some quality time with my barbeque. I mean is there anything that screams summer more than grilling while the neighbor kids play in the street until the lamps come on?” He sounded a bit nostalgic as he painted the picture.

“Getting dropped down storm drains to retrieve hockey pucks for your older brother…”[16] Sera was feeling a bit nostalgic too. She had loved summers when she’d had them. Once the comet hit and she’d become a hero, however, there was no more street hockey in the cul-de-sac or running through the sprinklers. There was training and there was work and there were summer classes to make up for all the times she’d been pulled out of school during the year to arrest someone.

The look of horror had not left Abigail’s fair features, but it was now mixed with disgust.

“I can assure you my son has never spent time down a storm drain.”

~

“You were flirting with her.” Shego hissed as soon as they turned down the bread aisle and Abigail Normal had drifted off in the opposite direction.

“I was not!”

“You were too! _Yes, I’m told they’re award winning_ , more than flirting you were even smooth about it.” Drakken crossed ‘sandwich bread’ off the list with a growl.

“I was not flirting, I was trying to butter her enough to get some information for this case out of her. She’s the one who had to take it _there_.” He was blushing violet at the memory. “Besides,” he cleared his throat and lifted her left hand from the cart, the diamonds in her wedding set winking and blinking in the florescent light. “I’m fake married to you.”

“So, you won’t be swapping seeds with her anytime soon?”

“God no,” he scoffed, “I’ve never been one for blondes.” He swept his hand across the back of her hand for a moment before marching down the aisle muttering something about baguettes as he went, leaving Shego flexing her left hand and exhaling the breath she’d not realized she had been holding.  

* * *

 

[1] She cries ‘More, more, more’.

[1]Peter Abelard was a 12thcentury monk and logician, you’ve probably run into his work in logic puzzles as he gifted us with the construction if A is B and B is C then A is also C, or put another way, if God is love, and love is blind than Stevie Wonder is God. The reference works here, not because of his logic however, but because Abelard was also a tutor and famously had a relationship with a noble woman named Heloise. Heloise fell pregnant and in retaliation her family castrated Abelard, when Heloise gave birth, they took her son and banished her to a convent. She spent the rest of her life exchanging letters with Abelard going toe to toe with him on matters of theology and the role of monasteries, all the time complaining that this was NOT what she signed up for. The letters of Abelard and Heloise are a great source to learn about religion and society in Medieval Europe. I named my cat Abelard after reading the letters my sophomore year of college, I think it’s the best name because it’s a castration joke (my cat’s been fixed like his namesake), also Abelard the cat is very fat, and Abelard breaks down into Lard as a nickname.

[2]French for baked eggs in baskets (ramekins) with toasted bread.  Usually in addition to eggs the baskets are filled with vegetables and meat such as prosciutto piccante and arugula, or cheese.

[3]See Eddie Izzard’s “Death Star Cantina” for more about penne arribiatta and peas.  

[4]M.I.S.T. is short for the Middleton Institute of Science and Technologies, where Drakken and James Possible attended school.

[5]In other words, Drakken has gone from Dad to Daddy. And yes, I mean it like that. I didn’t want to think of Drakken as a Daddy but then tumblr pointed out that the Live Action Drakken is 100% a Daddy and now I can’t unsee it, even in the cartoon.

[6]Shego used to have some personal photos with her in her room, but after she lost one of the photos she had of her parents to a Team Possible explosion she’d gave up putting up any art or keeping an momentos in the lair. By the fifth lair she’d moved into and been forced out of she even stopped caring about finding a bedspread she liked.

[7]Canonically Shego loves hydrangeas, and honestly, I do to, they’re great flowers on their own. But I decided to up the significance of her favorite flower by also having her associate them with some of her happy childhood memories, before she lost her parents, her home, and her freedom to being a superhero.

[8]If I can find a reason to talk about Jack the Ripper, I WILL. I am obsessed with all things murder mystery, unban legends, and lore.

[9]Medieval Rat Torture - if you watch Game of Thrones, you’d have seen it and it’s graphic. If not, well, the mildest way I can describe it is: The person being tortured is strapped down so they cannot move, rats would be trapped in a bowl and that bowl would be secured on top of the victim so it wouldn’t move off the body and the rats couldn’t escape. Hot coals would be placed on the bowl, heating it up and inspiring the rats to try and escape, if they couldn’t get out through the sides of the bowl, they’d find other ways of avoiding the heat, namely chewing and clawing their way through the victim’s stomach. It’s a long and agonizing way to die.

[10]Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome is the third in the Mad Max movie series (the last one with Mel Gibson) which came out in 1985. I actually really love this movie, despite all of its obvious flaws, and I gotta say Tina Turner is amazing in everything she does, including playing a villain. This specific line, “[Can’t we just get beyond thunderdome?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zHL1upLX5bs)” is from the opening of the Mystery Science theater 3000 episode Lazerblast. It’s perhaps my favorite opening to an MST3K episode ever.

[11]Drakken and I are both anal retentive enough that when we meal plan, we don’t mess around. So yeah, there’s a [chart](https://trivialqueen.tumblr.com/post/183103582297/im-supposed-to-be-grading-blue-book-exams-so). I admittedly, don’t have the subcategory system quite like this one, but that’s only because I have my local grocery store memorized and can order items based on where they’re found in the store rather than strictly by type of food item. I really can’t wrap my head around how people can go grocery shopping regularly without a list. If I go to the grocery store without a list, if I’m lucky, I walk out with maybe three items that I need and like seventy-five that I don’t AND that I can’t even use in combination with one another to make something. Not even getting started on how much junk food I buy if I’m left to my own devices. My Dude on the other hand, while he might jot down something specific he needs, he just wonders around and comes up with everything he’ll eat for a week, no list in hand. I can only attribute this to the fact he eats the same about 3-5 meals every week: frozen pizza, chicken nuggets, pasta, hot dogs, tacos.

[12]The uncanny valley is a common unsettling feeling people experience when androids (humanoid robots) and audio/visual simulations closely resemble humans in many respects but are not quite convincingly realistic. I’m pretty sure this is also why I don’t like chimps, monkeys, and gorillas. It definitely explains why I don’t like dolls. Humanoid but not human. In Shego’s case “Suburban Shego” is Shego like but ultimately not and that’s terrifying.

[13]There is indeed a real American Rhododendron Society. I’m not sure what exactly they do as an organization, but then again, I’ve managed to kill a bamboo plant.

[14] _Mon Vilain_ – French, My Villain, perhaps the most obvious term of affection, not only with it being an English cognate but also who they are.

[15]Clair Wellington is the name of the character Glenn Close played in the 2004 film adaptation of the Stepford Wives.

[16]Being the youngest, the only girl, and the smallest of the kids who lived on my block growing up I was always the one who got thrown over the fence to retrieve the kickball from the cemetery behind our house or lowed into the storm drain to get the puck when we played street hockey.


	9. More, More, More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, hot off the presses. Please forgive any errors you find - and perhaps the over-explanation of serial killers. And as always please suspend your disbelief as best you can, but if you really can't let me know in the comments. 
> 
> This chapter is also brought to you by Billy Idol, all other notes are at the end of the chapter.

“What is it you’re always telling me, Shego? Ah, yes, ‘Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole’.”[1]Drew tied his apron strings with a flourish, “I’m the chef and we’re listening to _Ella & Louis_.”[2]

“It’s so old.” Shego grumbled, flopping into one of the kitchen chairs.

“It’s a classic! One of the definitive vocal jazz albums – and perhaps one of the best duets of all time.”

“Whatever.” Things had been weird since meeting Abigail in the store and the way she’d gone from housewife to desperate in 2.6 seconds after Drakken had mentioned her stupid flowers. Now they were back “home”, groceries put away, but the tension remained. As Louis Armstrong sang about a blanket of blue, she could almost feel the rhythm and sway of one step forward and two steps back. _Trying_ was hard.

“Instead of sitting there and sighing, why don’t you make yourself useful?” Usually Shego spent very little time in the kitchen and none of it while he was cooking. It was unnerving to have her hovering, so much so it outweighed how nice it was to have company.

“And do what? You’re the chef, remember, I’m just supposed to shut my cakehole.” Drakken rolled his eyes, and she whined that _he_ was over dramatic.

“You could open the bottle of Gewürztraminer.”[3]

“Bless you.”

“Ha, ha. Very funny.” Nonetheless Shego crossed to the corner of the counter where they’d left the wine. Global Justice had failed to bring them the wine rack from their Montana lair despite having stolen nearly everything else. It was not long after the sound of the cork sliding free that a generous glass of white wine appeared in his peripheral vision. GJ had forgotten their wine rack but mercifully had remembered a corkscrew and four long stemmed wine glasses.

“This isn’t half bad, for white wine.” Shego hadn’t retreated back to hear seat, just as she hadn’t pulled any punches in the store when he’d picked up two bottles of white and a rosé in addition to her preferred red wine (she’d said white wine wasn’t ‘valid’ about seven times in like five minutes).

“As I said before, Shego, it’s really going to pair well with the sauce.”

“I meant to ask the first time – _how do you know that_?” He swirled the wine in his glass, watching the Gibbs-Marangoni effect before nosing the glass and taking a tasting sip.[4]

“I took a viticulture and enology elective in college.”[5]

“A what?”

“Basically, a principles of biology and horticulture class but with some wine 101 thrown in.”

“Holy shit.”

“Indeed, the exams were brutal. The wine was a hook, but it was a serious science class first and foremost. Half the class dropped after the first week.” He’d signed up to meet girls and drink in the name of homework, he’d only survived because he was an exceptionally good scientist.

“I would have totally taken that class if it’d been an option.”

“To be fair, it sounds like you did plenty of unstructured wine tasting in college.”[6] She giggled and some of that tension they’d been carrying around relaxed.

“So what are you making anyway?” Her green gaze dropped from him to study the recipe he’d pulled up on his laptop. “Penne arrabbiata?”

“ _Arrabbiata_ literally means angry in Italian – this sauce is going to have three different types of pepper in it.”[7]

“Sounds great, I’m starving.”

“It’ll get on the table faster if you give me a hand.” He sat his wine down, away from the work station he’d created for himself and set about honing what knives they’d been given. It wasn’t a complete set but there was a paring knife and a chef’s knife plus two sturdy cutting boards and a honing steel.

“I opened the wine and I’ll do the dishes, what more do you want?”

“Well, you could fine dice this shallot for me.” He pointed at the little onion with the large knife. Shego sighed dramatically, again, and flipped her long, dark braid over her shoulder, but she didn’t object. Drakken passed her the paring knife and cutting board before returning to the assemblage of the _mise en place_.[8]

The warmth of companionable silence and working side by side was short lived, however.

“What the fuck did you do to that shallot?” Shego looked from the mess of skin and uneven chunks of shallot on the board to him and back again, tears welling in her eyes. It was a pungent little mess.

“I’m trying to dice it.”

“Well, it looks like you masticated it instead.[9] Didn’t you ever learn how to chop an onion?” His eyes were starting to water as well and he hit the hood fan, hoping to suck the sulfoxides out of the kitchen before cooking dinner turned into a big tear jerk.[10]

“Sorry, that wasn’t a part of the police academy manual!”

“And you didn’t take HomeEc.?”

“I was outta school more than I was in it for most of high school, it’s amazing I graduated at all having missed so many classes. Plus, my FCS teacher was an absolute bitch, she once took points off a test because under the picture of a spatula I wrote ‘spatula’ instead of ‘pancake turner’.”[11]

“That’s…”

“Ridiculous! I know!” He grabbed another shallot and stood behind her, boxing her in at the cutting board.

“Dicing a shallot’s easy once you learn how.” He announced, hooking his chin over her should so he could see what he was doing. “Pick up the knife, let me see what you do know.” He couldn’t see her expression clearly, but he didn’t need to to know she was rolling her eyes. Her body was tense as leaned over her back.

“We’re so not doing this.”

“Humor me.” He whispered against her neck. Suddenly the tension was quite different. He’d not intended for this level of intimacy when he moved behind her, but now he couldn’t bring himself to step away. Shego picked up the knife, slowly.

“Now take the top off.” Being this close meant he could smell her fresh, clean perfume more than the sulfuric burn of the onion.

Shego placed the shallot on the cutting board, her non-dominate hand atop it, and raised the knife.

“Stop.” Perfume haze be damned. “You don’t honestly keep your hand like that, do you? Are you trying to take one of fingertips off? There are easier ways of dealing with fingerprints than physically removing them.”

“What are you bitching about now?” She was annoyed but didn’t jerk away. Carefully he placed a hand over hers on the shallot, he took her other hand, and the knife, in his.

“Your fingertips are totally exposed like this, see?” He tapped the ends of their fingers with the side of the blade. “One slip and you’ll never be able to text again. Now, if you use a claw grip,” he folded her small hand into his larger one, so their nails were touching the shallot, anchoring it on the board and their knuckles were forward. “Your finger tips are protected, and you can use the flat of your fingers, here,” he pressed the flat of the knife to his grip, “to guide your cuts.” He smoothly lopped off the top of the shallot, his hands over his own, guiding them. With a flat surface to act as a stable bottom he flips the shallot on the end and cuts it in half.

“Having a flat surface to cut on makes everything easier, and you can get the skin off in one piece.” He peeled the papery beige skin and thin first layer of the shallot away with a flick of his wrist.

Shego should pay attention to Drakken’s shallot demonstration, if she’s not going to shank his ass for the condescending ‘let me help you swing a baseball bat’ move then she should at least learn something new. But her mind couldn’t focus on making cuts first parallel to the cutting board, then perpendicular, leaving the root end intact before making more perpendicular, if horizontal cuts to create tiny little cubes. Instead she is distracted by him – his hands and how deftly he handles a blade most of all. Most people would not find it a good thing that his knife skills were a turn on, but then most people weren’t former professional supervillains. He was competent, confident, and he’d good fine motor skills – the application of such traits were endless.

He smelled amazing, with most of the onion scent being sucked up the vent, and his proximity she could catch it clearly. He was big and warm and smelled like home.

“There, you see? It’s evenly diced and your fingers are safe…” Sera relaxed into him briefly, completely. If only all of trying could be like this – Wine, jazz (it was a good album, he was right – damn him) and closeness. Drew stopped his lecturing as he felt her lean back into his chest. His arm found its way around her waist and he dropped his nose to the crown of her head. It felt good to be hugged, she’d been denied in outer space, back on earth they’d been too busy, too awkward to embrace (his vines categorically did not count as a hug).

“Your hair smells so much better than onion.” “I’m glad you didn’t die.” The disparity in their comments made them both tense then awkwardly chuckle, Drew stepping away from her, leaving a chilly vacuum in his wake.

“Thank you for coming to rescue me.” For a long time, they were silent, standing not an arm’s distance apart.

_Birds do it, bees do it, even educated fleas do it. Let’s do it, let’s fall in love…_

“Right.” Drew eventually broke the silence, “Now that everything is prepared, I can start cooking. Dinner will be ready in about half an hour?” Drakken’s cellphone rang, cutting off any reply _Betty Director_ lighting up the screen.   

“Would you get that Shego?” he nodded toward the mobile as he poured the can of whole peeled tomatoes and their juices into the blender.

“Me? It’s your phone!” He hit the pulse-blend button.

“WHAT? SORRY! CAN’T HEAR YOU!” Shego unlocked his phone with one hand and flipped him off with the other, but she was smiling – so that was a good sign.

“Hello—Yeah he’s cooking dinner right now--” Shego wandered off into the living room with his phone and her wine, he could catch snippets of her half of the conversation, but only just. He could hear her tone of voice change from relaxed and teasing to sharp and annoyed. The warm, if oniony bubble of before had been thoroughly burst.

Shego returned to the kitchen as he began building the sauce, tossing in the shallot and garlic into the hot oil before then adding the minced pepperoncini, tomato paste, minced anchovy, salt, and pepper.

“What did GJ want?”

“To know if we’d solved the case yet.”

“It’s been three days! This isn’t a crime procedural.”

“That’s what I told her!” She sipped her wine aggressively. Drew had known her long enough to know that wasn’t all that had her wound up.

“What else did she say?” Half a teaspoon of red pepper flakes followed a quarter teaspoon of paprika into the deep red paste.

“Reminded us that if we needed additional tests run on anything there is an FBI lab in San Francisco we can use.”

“Taste this.” Drew had licked the wooden spatula already; the anchovies and shallot had added some good umami notes and richness to the sauce, but it still wasn’t quite right. He extended the sauce covered utensil to Shego, who gave it a taste, her hand on his wrist to hold it steady – she was wearing white after all. He watched her pink tongue slip out, then retreat back behind her full lips.

“More paprika, I think.” She looked up at him as he stuck the spatula in his own mouth, verifying her assessment. “She also had some choice digs about you cooking dinner.” There it was. Drakken added a pinch more paprika and cursed Betty Director in every language he knew. He could feel the rhythm and sway of the room shift from one step forward to two steps back.

“She’s just jealous.” He offered, dumping the coarsely chopped tomato puree into the sauce pan followed by the grated Pecorino Romano cheese.

“She’s something, alright.” Drew adjusted the burner to simmer and began filling a pot for the pasta.

“Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes.”

**~**

Unlike pizza, penne arrabbiata wasn’t meant to be eaten sitting on the kitchen counter so Shego sat the table for two, bottle of wine in the center. Betty Director’s voice in her head.

_Hello._

_Shego, why are you answering Drakken’s phone?_

_He’s cooking._

_Ah, how delightfully domestic. I do hope you’ve managed to do some work in addition to playing house these last three days._

“So where exactly are we on this whole case thing?” With dinner came their second glass of wine. Drew had ditched his apron and was looking relaxed as she was not feeling. Ella and Louis were replaced by Thelonious Monk. She’d never admit it, lest it go to his head, but it was the second solid music choice he’d made that evening. Jazz wasn’t really her thing, but she couldn’t imagine playing ‘Gasolina’ in the background.

“Well, we’ve established this place is Stepford, there’s been no sign of any of the missing persons’ property show up anywhere which means either the aliens abduct everything when they beam people up or a serial killer takes lots of trophies because the homes are all sold spotless and empty.” He swirls his wine glass, she knows it’s a tick of his, to fiddle when he’s thinking but swirling a wine glass makes him look so much more sophisticated than when he’s chewing on a pen.

It’s terrifying how not terrifying it is to be sitting across from him at the table. They’d cohabitated for over five years and eaten together many times, but never like this, and yet this felt right, natural even.

_How delightfully domestic._

“Folks are hesitant to talk about the Arky’s but quick to cite chapter and verse the CC&R. You say Jack Hoff was a veterinarian, but Stan Beck claims he travels frequently for work, you found a cardecus necklace in a storm drain which might be Hoff’s-”

“Suggesting that we have anothermissing person on our hands.” She’d not mentioned that to Dr. Director yet, but it was pretty obvious that Jack wasn’t just out of town.

“And we’ve had two flamingos stolen out of the yard in broad daylight fifteen minutes after they were put out.” Drakken was still salty about that it seemed.

“Perhaps we should up our rule breaking game. Flamingos are easy to steal when our backs are turned.

“What are you suggesting?”

“We should do something you can’t just walk by and undo, we should, like, paint the mailbox lime green or something.”

“Lime green?”

“Or something. People are obsessed with all these stupid rules, we should see what comes out of the woodwork if we really break one.”

“Brilliant idea, Shego… but really, lime green?”

“I said _or something_.”

**~**

In the end Drakken decided on a lovely shade of sea glass blue-green to paint the mailbox, mainly because Shego wasn’t there to stop him. She’d gone to Hoff’s office, under the pretext of wanting to get a puppy to see what she can learn about their neighbor and his whereabouts.

He puttered in the lawn first, in part because he really was concerned about how his plantings were doing (the soil was odd, lose but not fine, like chunky salsa that’d gone off) but also because he didn’t want a repeat of the flamingos, He wants their mailbox to get caught, but not until it was finished. So he couldn’t exactly go painting it during morning rush hour when all the prosperous Arcadian husbands hop in their German cars and head for work.

He finished mulching around the flower beds and giving all the transplants another long drink before he started painting the sienna colored mailbox.

Then he went inside and waited.

What he really wanted was a shower, he’d not bothered with one before working up a sweat but now he had to sit and wait in his stubble and sweat salty skin – _and it itched_. But showering wasn’t an option until Shego got home and he could take over observing the mailbox. After he painted it he’d pushed it crooked for good measure.

Five minutes into his vigil he’s board. Another ten and he’s actively disassociating. And he still itches. He figures out after another twenty minutes that he can still see the mailbox from the kitchen, so while he’s still bored and vaguely smelly he can also make himself a pot of tea while he waits.

Drinking tea is about the only thing he can do without being distracted and so he drinks – a lot. Three pots worth. Noon rolled around with no sign of Shego. He’s so caffeinated he’s shaking, and he’s got to pee so badly he’s cross-eyed.

He breaks.

The mailbox stake out can resume after he peed and showered. It’d take him ten minutes to mess the thing up and he’d not been trying to be thorough or aesthetically pleasing.

Drakken freshly showered and clean shaven had just pulled a sweatshirt over his head when his phone rang. He recognized the tone, there was only one person he set a special ringtone for and it made the bottom fall out of his stomach.

“Hello, mother.”

“Drewbie!” His mother gushed. “It’s been so long since we talked. You never call any more, has becoming a hero turned your head so much that you’ve forgotten your own mother?” It was Tuesday he remembered with a groan, he always called his mother on Sunday, this favor for Global Justice had him all kinds of distracted.

Estelle Petrie Lipsky hadn’t always been this way. She’d always been proud and supportive, of course, but the smothering was new – and unwelcomed. It also seemed to be getting worse over time, starting with the loss of her husband. Drew’s father had been an active, if scatterbrained and clumsy, man. It had helped divide her instincts to protect and hover when she had a husband who’d as soon as climb up on the roof to fix the antenna or leak himself than call a professional. It’d been his father’s deep voice in the background of phone calls reminding Estelle to ‘leave the boy alone and let him have some fun’ all through college.

Then he’d gotten sick and every ounce of her caring nature went into trying to make him well. His Dad died on April Fools’ Day 1986 and his mother had not been the same since.

“I’m sorry, Ma, I totally forgot what day it was Global Justice…asked for my expertise on a matter and had me relocate to California temporarily, I’m still unpacking.” It wasn’t the whole truth but it also wasn’t a lie. It was enough to get him out of the doghouse, her complaints turned to raptures over how smart her son was and how it was only right that Global Justice recognize his worth and how she was a minor celebrity at the beauty parlor because her son was a hero – he had saved the world – Mary Beth had done her last permanent for free as a thank you and even Judith Rosenberg – _even_ Judith – had seemed impressed and both her boys were lawyers – went to Harvard – and she’d stopped bragging about that to be impressed by her Drewbie. Of course, she also asked why you were blue because she was a judgmental old biddy and they talked about how her eldest son just welcomed a daughter and her youngest boy was engaged.

“Are you ever going to get married Drewbie?” Drew, who had spent most of his mother’s stream of consciousness remaking the bed (he’d just tossed the covers up over the fitted sheet but not actually made it when he got up that morning) sighed deeply and resisted the urge to scream into Shego’s pillow. _He hated_ that question and his mother managed to ask it every single phone call since 1987. And to make matters worse – that question more loaded – he was making the bed he was now sharing with the one woman he wanted to marry. Because this was his life.

“You’re not getting any younger, you know.” His mother continued, “I’m not getting any younger and I wanted to still be able to pick up my grandbabies.” Grandbabies. If she just mentioned a doctor’s appointment or some random person, he was supposed to know dying it’d be a _Phone Call with your Mother_ Bingo Shego had made him a literal bingo card once early-ish in their working relationship. She delighted in teasing him about his mother and complaining when she visited when she visited and yet she also never avoided spending time with her either. She’d sit there and let her fuss all over her – would even politely, if evasively, answer his mother’s never-ending personal questions. Hell, Shego let his mother hug her Double hell she’d once told his mother her actual name, although she’d insisted, she preferred Shego. His mother was the only person who called her Seraphina as far as he could tell (her brothers not withstanding).

Egads and little fishes if his mother found out about the details of this assignment - 

“Lucy! I’m home!” Right on cue.

“Drewbie…was that Seraphina I heard?” “Dr. D! Jack Hoff is absolutely missing-” Shego cut herself off as he stepped out into the hall and she saw the phone.

“Yeah, she’s working with me on this project in California.”

“Is that your mom? Lemme say hi.” She made grabby hands at the phone. Yeah, Shego always teased him about his beloved smotherer, she also never turned down a chance to say hi.

“Ma, Shego wants to say hello.” He handed the phone over and headed back to the living room, checking his watch and wincing. Fifteen minutes. Surely no one could have noticed the change and painted it back in a quarter of an hour and then disappeared. They’d have to still be at it…

“Nygn!” he couldn’t believe it; the mailbox was back to its original color. Someone had noticed, accessed paints and gotten the entire box covered evenly and thick enough that not a trace of blue showed through.

_How_?!

“Doc – your mom.”

“Oh Drewbie, I guess I should let you get back to work, Seraphina tells me you’re trying to solve a missing persons case – how exciting! Just like those TV shows! She’s such a lovely girl, your Seraphina, make sure you treat her right and take care of yourself – you are getting enough to eat and eight hours of sleep, right?”

“Of course, mother, I’ve been taking care of myself for years now.” And in that time, he’d turned himself blue and merged himself with a semi-conscious plant biology.

“Yes, and you’re just skin and bones.”

“Mooom.”

“I mean it, Drewbie, take care of yourself and Seraphina too.” He sighed.

“I will, Mom. Love you.”

It took another five minutes to actually ring off.

BINGO.

Shego emerged from the kitchen with two Ruebens, one with pastrami and extra pickles, the other with a side of kettle chips.

“So how’s your mother?”

“You spoke to her, so you should know. What did you find out from Hoff’s office?” They drew up seats at the bar.

“Those dogs that look like Ewoks are called Brussels Griffons, also Jack Hoff, DVM is a small animal veterinary specialist with a practice downtown.[12]It’s him and one other vet, three nurses and a receptionist. He doesn’t travel but for twice a year, once to the annual conference and once for vacation – the annual conference is always in September and he already took his vacation over Christmas and New Year – he went to Belize, apparently. Anyway, no one has seen him this week – he’s missed two days of work with no word, absolutely not like him.  The receptionist was in a real state about the whole thing, she’ll be filing a missing person’s report today.” She took a large bite and chewed thoughtfully.

“So, Stan was lying.”

“Yeah and not just about Jack being away on business. When he helped us move in, he told me he was a vet and offered to help us find a pet if we were interested. When Helen and I took their little rat Papillon thing, _Muffins_ , for a walk she commented that they adopted her last year. How much do you want to bet Jack helped them?”

“So, Stan knows what he does and that it doesn’t involve travel and lied to us anyway. He’s also taking care of the man’s house, which would seem odd, unless he’s involved in the disappearance!” Drakken waved about a pickle spear for emphasis.

“Okay, so Stan did it – why? What’s his motive? Is he responsible for the other disappearances? If so – again - _why_?”

“If Stan was responsible for all the disappearances, he’d have killed at least eight people in the last six years.”

“Those are like John Christie numbers. Does he strike you as a serial killer?”[13]

“He’s got a wife and a kid and a good job.”

“So? Not all serial killers are lone wolf bedwetters. Some of the more organized serial killers had friends and family and seem as mild mannered as anyone.”

“Why do you know that?”

“And this is a clear case of an organized killer. But what of motives? He doesn’t seem to have had a psychotic break, so I doubt these are visionary killings where god or the Devil has made him do it. It could be a power/control thing but without the bodies we can’t really know. Similarly, if these were crimes of lust there’s no real way to tell. Other hedonistic motives might be relevant – the thrill of killing or the intellectual exercise of trying to commit the perfect murder. Then there’s the comfort angle, Helen Beck works in insurance, maybe they’re the beneficiary?”

“Nah,” Drew swallowed, “FBI checked that, all the disappeared people had different beneficiaries, some of whom have collected, some of whom have not. Also, why do you know this serial killer stuff?”

“Damn. Well, I suppose everyone having the same beneficiary on their insurance would have been a clue too big for even the FBI to miss.” Shego chewed thoughtfully. “Stan could be a mission-oriented killer trying to cure the societal ill of tacky lawn décor.”

“ _Again, WHY do you know this_?!”

“I’ve watched a lot of murder shows in my time, Doctor D. A lot of murder shows.”[14]

“This is not comforting information Shego.”

“After five year I haven’t killed you yet, you should be fine.” She shrugged. “Although… there was mud all over the garage and the laundry room. Like I get that you’re part plant now, but do you think you could try to keep the garden outside?”

“What are you talking about?”

“There was mud all over the garage and laundry room, you must’ve been covered in it. It looked like someone drug in a bag of soil from the lawn.”

“Shego, I didn’t even lift a spade today, all I did was water the plants and paint the mailbox.” She turned to look over her shoulder at the mailbox and then turned back to him, eyebrow skeptically raised. “I did! And then in the time it took me to take a shower someone painted it back.”

“Were you washing your hair? What took you so long?” Defensively he ran his hand through his hair, now mostly airdried.

“I watched the mailbox for over two hours, I turned my back for at most fifteen minutes and in that exact window someone fixed it.”

“What the hell is wrong with this place?”

**~**

“Have you seen the movies GJ foisted on us?” Drew asked from the media center. After a dead-end afternoon of rereading, again, the provided case files and some light inventing it was finally time for dinner. “The X-Files, Transformers, Alien, Signs, The Day the Earth Stood Still, Invasion of the Body Statures, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Men in Black, Starman, E.T., the Thing…”

“Betty Director really thinks she’s funny, doesn’t she?” Shego groaned from the inside of the refrigerator. Since they began sharing a lair they had fallen into a rhythm, pizza once a week, taking turns cooking the remaining six days, whomever didn’t do the cooking did the dishes. However, it often worked out that the when it was Drakken’s turn to cook he made enough for leftovers the next night, which meant most of Shego’s turn as chef involved reheating.

“Damn, there is not nearly as much left over from last night as I thought.” Shego stared into the Tupperware, inside was enough pasta and peas for perhaps one person if they weren’t super hungry but certainly not enough for two dinners.

“Really? I could have sworn… Well, you have the pasta and I’ll make something.” He shooed her away from the fridge and then stood in the open door for a solid minute, staring. “Right, blueberry balsamic grilled cheese it is.”[15]

“How the hell do you come up with this stuff?”

“Quiet Shego, it’s going to be amazing.”

**~**

“So, movie?” Elaborate, blue grilled cheese neatly played in one hand, hoppy pilsner in the other Drakken gestured to the small pile of DVDs that had come with the furniture.

“Yeah, sure.” Shego shrugged, “Preference? Not _Starman_ , though, that one’s horrible.”[16]

“ _E.T._ maybe? _Close Encounters of the Third Kind_?”

“I’ve not seen _Close Encounters_.”

“How on earth have you seen _Starman_ and not _Close Encounters_?”

“One, I will watch anything with Karen Allen in it. Also, John Carpenter is amazing.”[17]

“ _Close Encounters_ is a classic! Your cinematic education is sorely lacking, Shego.”

“It’s sooo old though.”[18]

“It’s only a year older than you.” That gave the vert woman momentary pause, her own dinner in hand.

But only _momentary_.

“Yeah, so I didn’t see it released in theaters, how old were you when you went?” She smirked and settled herself on the sofa, leaving him to fuss with the DVD.

“Nygn.” He groaned but didn’t answer.

**~**

They ate their dinner in relative silence, letting Bob Balaban’s iffy French fill the air between them.[19]

May in Northern California was beautiful, daytime highs in the mid to upper sixties with little rain. Northern California nights, on the other hand, while not cold, still got chilly. But not chilly enough, apparently, to trip the automatic heating. Beside him Shego shivered. It was no wonder, he observed from the corner of his eye: her feet were bare, her long, toned legs were bare, her strong arms were bare. The tank top and shorts made since when she was sitting in the sun, but now…

“Ugh, didn’t we have a throw with the sofa?” They had, he remembered unpacking it. The grey cotton-cashmere throw lived on the back of the Montana sofa since they’d stolen it from a department store. He’d needed copper piping for an experiment, but with a high-end home goods store across the parking lot they also picked up some new cookware and bedding. Taking over the world never quite panned out, but they had managed to live in comfort.

“You didn’t steal it for your office, did you?” She accused.

“Sera, would you just watch the movie?”

“Sorry, Drew, but I’m cold.” The sigh came from so deep within him he could feel it in the lowest part of his lungs. He threw an arm along the back of the sofa.

“Come’ere.”

The thing about cuddling on the sofa, side by side, was what to do with Shego’s arm, sandwiched between them. Sliding it behind his back cut the circulation off in her arm, having it between them did the same thing, in front her elbow dug into his stomach. It didn’t help that Shego couldn’t sit straight.[20]She leaned heavily on him, both her legs tucked up under her.  

“Why are you so warm?”

“With the addition of plant biology to my internal structure I now have more body mass to surface area that I don’t feel cold, so my body doesn’t feel the need to conserve heat, plus I’m wearing sleeves.”

“Oh, shut up with the science and logic.” She snapped, snuggling further into his side.

By the end of the movie they’d gone through three different permutations of cuddling. First with her leaning into his side. Then with her leaning back against him and finally, more comfortably, both stretched out on the sofa. He skin was smooth and soft and despite how cold she claimed she felt she was warm.

It was impossible for her to pay attention to the movie. Drakken was warm and solid under her cheek and he was playing with her hair, his fingers running through her locks, twisting it around his fingers, she could feel the gentle tugging on her scalp. No wonder cats enjoyed pets. She felt like purring herself. It was taking all of her focus not to.

This. This was what they could be. It was nice. A movie, some dinner, human contact without violence. He was so warm. So comfortable.

Drakken had never been able to sit still. Fidgeting, tinkering, doodling, inventing. He didn’t like movie theatre popcorn, but it gave him something to do with his hands. He’d not realized until it was too late, he’d started playing with Shego’s hair. It was as smooth and soft as her skin and smelled like citrus and lavender. It would be soothing if it wasn’t waiting for her to murder him.

But she never did. She just stayed, lying on his chest, his arms wrapped around her in lieu of blankets as Richard Dreyfuss scaled the Devil’s Tower. It was warm and comfortable. He’d quite willingly lose all sensation in his arm forever if they could keep this.

_I love you._

* * *

 

[1]Dean to Sam, _Supernatural 1x1_ – House rules, Sammy.

[2]1956 duet album between Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong, which inspired two other collaborations between them. [One of the jazz albums to listen to before you die](https://www.villagevoice.com/2012/11/13/ten-jazz-albums-to-hear-before-you-die/).

[3]Gewürztraminer is a type of spicy-dry white wine, mostly grown in the Alsace region of Germany and France but there are a few Californian growers as well. Since they’re in California I assume Drakken would have gone with the ‘local’ wines, thus only buying Californian. 

[4]Gibbs-Marangoni effect is when a bit of wine evaporates from the sides of the wine glass, it’s the scientific name for the phenomenon more commonly known as ‘wine legs’ or ‘wine tears’. They can show you the viscosity of the wine (which can tell you things about alcohol content), swirling also helps you smell the wine and decants the wine which makes it easier to taste the complexity of flavors. Wine tastings is my family’s idea of a fun vacation activity. It’s awesome now, it was boring as hell when I was 13.

[5]Viticulture = growing grapes, enology = making wine. These are real classes offered at various universities such as UC Davis or the University of Minnesota. You can also take classes about wine and food pairings through culinary schools or departments.

[6]Such a classy way of saying she was a lush, Drew.

[7]I’m partial to the Cook’s Illustrated recipe for [penne arrabbiata](https://www.cooksillustrated.com/recipes/8645-penne-arrabbiata-for-two?incode=MCSCD00L0&ref=new_search_experience_1)– and I’ve found it’s pretty easy to make. Also, goes great with a side of peas.  Sorry not sorry for how much I’ve been discussing food and cooking in detail.

[8] _Mise en place_ = French cooking term meaning ‘putting in place’ or ‘everything in its place’, basically the act of assembling all the ingredients for a recipe before you start cooking. It’s a legit handy habit to get into.

[9]Masticate = to chew. Also chosen here cuz it sounds a bit like massacre.

[10]Onions make us cry because they release sulfoxides which irritate our eyes. If you want to not cry when chopping onions and don’t feel like waring an eye mask, I suggest either freezing your onion (cold onions don’t release sulfoxides as quickly) or cutting them under the kitchen fan which will suck the air up and out of your face – or do both!

[11]True story and I’m still salty.

[12][Brussels Griffon aka those dogs that look like Ewoks](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Griffon_Bruxellois).

[13]John Christie killed eight people in ten years in Notting Hill, London between 1943-53 (strangling and in some cases raping his victims). The death of one of these eight victims was falsely attributed to the victim’s father and the man was hanged for it (Christie was a witness at the trial). There are two episodes of _Murder Maps_ (season 2, episodes 4 and 5) that talk about Christie.

[14]Yeah, all of that serial killer stuff is pulled from a combination of Wikipedia (for the proper terminology) and my voracious appetite for murder mysteries and true crime shows. Like my 4thgrade teacher called my mom to have a sit down because I kept bringing Agatha Christie mysteries for free reading books and apparently that wasn’t ‘age appropriate’ literature.

[15][Blueberry balsamic grilled cheese](http://amandakbythebay.blogspot.com/2013/09/balsamic-blueberry-grilled-cheese.html) because sometimes people can be terrible but grilled cheese can never be. Try it with goat cheese.

[16]Starman should have everything going for it, it’s done by John Carpenter and has Jeff Bridges and Karen Allen in it. But It’s not. It’s about a woman who never got over the death of her husband, an alien comes to earth for his own agenda and to grease the wheels he models his human persona on her husband and it’s just weird and creepy.

[17]John Carpenter has made some of my favorite movies. Also, I’ve been a bit in love with/enamored of/desiring to be Karen Allen since she was Marion Ravenwood. Like honestly, Indy not marrying her at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark was totally unnecessary, there was no need to turn him into another James Bond just so Spielberg’s girlfriend could have a shot at playing a sexy romantic lead in Temple of Doom or we could make him and his Dad share a sexual partner in Last Crusade. [/rant].

[18]Close Encounters of the Third Kind, 1977. Shego was born in 1978, Drakken 1963, making him about 14 when the movie came out.

[19]When asked if he spoke French Bob Balaban replied, in French, that he didn’t speak much (he’d taken it in High School), he assumed someone listening to him would hear that he wasn’t very good at it but no one did. He spent a lot of time practicing both with classes and in speaking with actor-director François Truffaut.

[20]Bisexuals can’t sit in chairs, ok, this is an internet fact.


End file.
